


Spark a Fire

by Jazz_2_chess



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Canon-Typical Violence, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Fox Stiles Stilinski, Getting Together, Hale-McCall Pack, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Meddling, Miscommunication, Monster of the Week, Pack Feels, Shy Derek Hale, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Is Bad at Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 62,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28118427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazz_2_chess/pseuds/Jazz_2_chess
Summary: There was no other choice to make. Not with Stiles fatally injured. If only Stiles could have done this the easy way. But he never does, does he?Stiles plus the bite make for an interesting combination, at least when you asked Deaton. If there are feelings in the mix (whether requited or not), it becomes an explosive cocktail of monsters, werebeings and a spark coming into his power.Also, there is something lurking in those woods, and it ain't a wolf, that's for sure.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 38
Kudos: 178





	1. INDOMITUS: untamed & fierce

> _Please underestimate me._
> 
> _Because in the end?  
>  You will never see me coming._

Running.

Footsteps coming closer.

 _Faster_ , he urged himself.

_Faster, come on!_

He had to keep running. His breath came fast. His muscles burnt with the effort it took to keep going. Trees raced past him, his vision blurry. Behind him, gun shots rang through the air. He forced himself not to look back. His father had urged him, had told him repeatedly not to look back when running from danger.

He almost stumbled over a root sticking out from the uneven ground but managed to catch himself in time. Part of him wanted to scream, to yell so that one of the wolves might hear him. But he knew, if he did, _they_ would find him first.

_Hunters._

He could almost taste the blood in the air, still smelt the gun powder. Wolfsbane covered his hands, his shoulders. They had made sure, no one wolf could come near him. Even if they had found him. Which they hadn’t.

“You can’t run forever, boy!” Stiles refused to flinch at the voice. A sharp turn to the right. He ducked behind a bush, took a few seconds to breathe. His heart hammered in his chest so loudly, he couldn’t hear anything else. They were close, he realised, had to be close. Their steps slowed down like they knew, he was hiding here. But he couldn’t go back to running so soon. His legs refused, his lungs barely managed to draw a breath from time to time. He had felt like this before.

So many times.

But this was different. This time, he was alone against four hunters, no wolves in sight and with no one to turn to. They didn’t know where he was, couldn’t know he had managed to free himself.

“He has to be here,” he heard from not far away. With his hand, he covered his mouth to keep quiet. The slightest sound could give him away. Carefully, oh so carefully, he pulled some breeches aside, peered over the bush. The hunters weren’t in his immediate line of sight but he was convinced, they were close. If only he could call someone. Anyone. Hell, even Peter would be welcome right now. But he couldn’t. He hadn’t had time to grab anything but his jacket before fleeing that horrid dungeon where they had strung him up like a Christmas turkey.

Two days. He had been there for two days and they had broken bones in his body he hadn’t known exited. His ribs, he was sure, were crushed, his left arm hung uselessly by his side. Until now, he hadn’t noticed how much it hurt. The adrenaline, he supposed.

Not that Stiles wasn’t used to being captured because he was, but those hunters, they didn’t take lightly his running with the wolves.

“Filthy dog lover,” they had called him. Stiles had never been so glad, he was the one in shackles right then because the woman reminded him so much of Kate, his stomach revolted at even her sight. Derek really didn’t need this.

Speaking of, he would have given his left arm and leg to see his grumpy face right now. No such luck though. As far as Stiles knew, Derek was home and frantically trying to find him. He sure as hell wasn’t out here in the woods. Not after two days.

“I heard something!” Stiles’ heart set out for a second there. The footsteps were suddenly too close. He didn’t dare stand, for fear of drawing attention to himself. There was the cocking of a gun much too near him. He distinctly heard the click.

And then, before he could react, a bullet pierced his shoulder.

“I’ve got him!” a hunter yelled while Stiles curled in on himself. He shot to his feet, instantly fell back into a sprint. He didn’t care that he had nowhere to go, no idea where he was. All that mattered was that he got as much distance between himself and those bastards.

The blood streaming down his shirt was hot against his cold skin. He refused to let the pain overtake him, pressed a hand against it to keep the blood loss at a minimum. If he collapsed, they would get him back and no one would find him.

“Shoot him!” the female hunter screeched, her voice so shrill Stiles wanted to cover his ears, “shoot him!”  
“On it!” It was the only warning he got before a searing pain exploded in his thigh. Stiles fell. His barely managed to reach out to avoid ramming his head into the ground. Without looking at his leg, he tried to pull himself up. His leg wouldn’t hold him up, he couldn’t stand.

It occurred to him, in that horrid split second when the hunters rounded in on him, what this was, why his fingers were going numb and his heart beat so slowly.

He was doomed. Death was already knocking on his door.

“Shouldn’t have run, boy,” the hunter who was walking forward briskly snarled. Stiles robbed away as best as he could, clenched his teeth when he saw the trace of blood he left behind.

A hand ripped his head back. Black seeped into his vison. For a moment, he couldn’t _see_. A pained whimper made it past his lips, but he bit back down on it. They didn’t get to watch him suffer. Not if he could help it.

“Well, well, I told you, you shouldn’t have run. What did you think was going to happen?”

Stiles wanted to answer but his throat was stretched at such a neck-braking angle, he couldn’t even open his mouth. 

“That’s what you get for being a filthy dog lover,” the hunter spat in his face,

“Jealous?” Stiles rasped out, unable to let that stand. He was backhanded so hard, his lips split upon impact. The hunter moved in on him, gun pressed against his temple. Stiles counted down, tears in his eyes.

This was it, he thought. This was the last thing he would see.

He heard it then. The most beautiful sound in the world. A wolf howling. And it wasn’t just any wolf. That was Derek. Stiles was sure of it. He would have known Derek’s howl everywhere. And it was so desperately close. Within the second it took him to realise, Derek was here, that he wasn’t alone, Stiles shrugged off the numbness. He sat up straight, shook off the hand of the hunter next to him. With all he had, he screamed Derek’s name. The answering howl, broken and pained, soothed him.

“Shit,” the hunter beside him backed away instantly when the trees started to shake with the volume of Derek’s voice. Stiles wondered why they looked so scared when it occurred to him that they were unprepared. What they were holding was a normal gun. A gun that would do nothing against an Alpha werewolf in full shift. A chuckle made it past his lips. It must have been the blood loss that was making him so hysterical.

“Leave him be,” the oldest hunter said, loading his gun, “leave him. He won’t make it anyway.” 

That sobered Stiles up. He shivered where he was leaning against the tree, still pressing against his thigh. His hands were stained red, the wound wouldn’t stop oozing blood. Major artery, his brain provided.

A rumble in front of him made him look up. His heart did a weird tumble when Derek finally came into view, fully shifted, eyes blazing red. Never in his life had that picture made Stiles feel more at home. The hunters stepped back, faces pale. Derek growled, low in his throat, and bared his fangs.

That was all it took for them to scramble, running like hell was on their heels. When in reality, Derek made no attempt to follow. He and Stiles were in a strange sort of limbo, with Derek staring but not moving a muscle and Stiles’ strength slowly trickling out. Then, as if a wishbone had snapped, Derek skidded to a halt beside him, arms instantly pulling him in. In the back of his mind, Stiles noticed that he had changed back to human. He couldn’t find the strength to tell Derek how relieved he was that he had come. That by some miracle or divine intervention, Derek had come for him, had saved him.

“Stiles?” he could almost taste the confusion in Derek’s tone; it was so apparent. 

“Stiles, keep your eyes open!” He hadn’t realised, he had closed them. Actually, there were a lot of things he was just now noticing. How he couldn’t move his legs, how Derek was crying and frantically pressing down on his thigh.

“Doesn’t hurt,” he breathed, somewhere between relieved that he didn’t have to feel that pain anymore and scared of what that meant. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Derek whispered beside him, eyes glued to his. 

“Huh?” He would have to spell it out for Stiles to understand. His brain refused to put it together.

“I know-” Derek took a shaky breath “I know, you don’t want it but Stiles- Stiles you’re going to die if I don’t…”

Oh.

That.

_Right._

He had never wanted it. Not really. After watching his pack go through these things, he had almost been grateful Peter hadn’t gone through with it. But it beat dying. That much, he was sure of. He just didn’t know how to say it, how to ask for it. 

“Stiles please…”

“It’s okay, Big Guy,” Stiles mumbled, tongue heavy in his mouth, “work your mojo…”

Derek’s entire body sagged forward with Stiles’ permission. He collapsed against Stiles’ neck. Stiles could tell, he was wolfed out, that those weren’t human teeth anymore. They were, quite obviously, fangs.

The next thing he felt was a sharp pain and then warmth trickling down his throat.

“It’s gonna take, right?” he had the mind to ask, suddenly reminded of Paige and how she hadn’t woken up.

“Yes,” Derek said.

Stiles’ last thought was that it sounded more like a wish than a promise.

> * * *

Derek cursed. Only on the second try did the Camaro roar to life. Stiles was on his side, unconscious and still bleeding heavily. Derek rolled down the window as to not suffocate on the smell. He could barely look at Stiles. Instead, he focussed on the road, cutting corners and speeding so much, the Camaro slithered across the pavement. With renewed vigour, Derek hit the gas.

The pack was on the way too. Each and every one of them. They had been so worried, and rightfully so. Two days, their favourite human had been missing. Derek hated how they had been useless, hadn’t been able to find Stiles when Stiles had saved them more times than Derek could count. They owed it to him. And in the end, Stiles had had to save himself. The growl that erupted from Derek’s throat was loud enough that an answering howl echoed through the woods.

Scott.

Only an Alpha could howl like that. Especially, if his second was one millisecond away from dying.

The steering wheel creaked under the pressure of his fingers. He didn’t want to remember how he had found Stiles, surrounded by those monsters.

Almost too late.

How Stiles had even managed to keep his eyes open, Derek didn’t know. There were too many bullet holes in him, too much blood on the ground. But he would thank his lucky stars for Stiles’ strength.

It felt like eternity until he pulled up at the clinic. Deaton and Melissa were ready with a stretcher, hauling Stiles into the building before Derek was fully out of the car. He ran after them, not even caring that the door of the Camaro shattered with how hard he threw it shut.

“Derek-” Isaac was by his side in an instant, face white. Derek shouldered past him, not ready to talk yet. His ears strained for the one sound he needed to hear. The beat of Stiles’ heart. It was still there, faintly and too slow but there nonetheless. Derek’s entire senses zeroed in on Stiles lying on Deaton’s table. Too pale and small, he looked, Derek thought.

“Where is he?!” Scott burst through the door in his beta-shift.

“Silence,” Deaton reprimanded and for the first time since Derek knew the man, he detected a note of worry in his otherwise flat voice. Scott noticed too and instantly sank into a chair, burying his head in his hands. Isaac sat down beside him, hand on his shoulder. Derek was glad no one was touching him. He didn’t think, he could stand it.

“How long?” Deaton asked while cleaning Stiles’ wounds. Bile rose in Derek’s stomach when he saw the damage under the cold light. Stiles’ skin was ripped at the seams, some pieces missing where the bullets had torn it. In his mind, Derek kept repeating that Stiles shouldn’t look like this. It shouldn’t have been him. Derek should have taken care of him, should have made sure, he wouldn’t get into situations like this. The wounds were proof how Derek had failed him as an Alpha, as a friend.

“Derek, how long?” Deaton still had that worried edge but now it was coated with determination, urgency.

“20,” Derek bit out, eyes still glued to Stiles and Stiles only. There was nothing in the world, he would turn away for.

Erica and Boyd were next. Lydia, Jackson and Allison trailed in not five minutes after. Stiles remained too pale and motionless.

“I didn’t see it,” Lydia whispered when she stepped forward. She addressed the room but Derek felt her eyes on him.

“Derek, I would have seen it…” she sounded insistent but at the same time, not too sure of herself. Like she wanted to believe what she was saying but the evidence of Stiles’ unmoving body made her doubt.

“It’ll take, right?” Erica spoke up, her voice thin. Derek could just imagine her anxiety. He didn’t even have to take an air full of lungs. The prospect of losing her batman scared her. Derek had always known how much she cared about the puny little human.

Meanwhile, Boyd put his arms around her before coming up on Derek’s left. A heavy hand settled on his shoulder. Derek had half a mind to shake it off but then he saw the black lines disappearing into Boyd’s skin.

“You can’t be in pain when he wakes up,” Boyd said as way of an explanation, “he’ll need you at full strength.”

“There is nothing more we can do,” Derek heard Melissa whisper. Her voice trembled and he could tell, she wanted to do something with her hands.

“How long do you think…” Scott let his voice ebb down after the last word, like he didn’t know whether or not to even ask. Derek’s senses were overwhelmed with the sound of so many beating hearts when the one he longed to hear was still dead silent.

“It depends,” Deaton answered for him, not looking up where he cleaned some of the blood off Stiles’ collarbone. Derek could see the ripped edges of his bite. Another reminder of how much he had failed Stiles.

“On what?”

“How fast it takes hold of his body. If he fights the change, it’ll be longer.” Derek shook his head minutely. He prayed Stiles’ combative nature recognised the bite for what it was and backed down. Just this once.

Jackson snorted beside him.

“Like he isn’t gonna give the bite hell…” he said and sounded much more amused than Derek found appropriate. Before he could snap at him to take this seriously, he noticed how Jackson’s heart was racing in his chest. It took a minute for him to realise why that was – make the connection, so to say. Jackson was deathly afraid Stiles wouldn’t make it and trying very hard not to show it.

Over the years, Derek had seen the two of the move closer to each other until they were circling in the same orbit. He supposed it made sense. Stiles had seen through Jackson’s bullshit just as quick as he had seen through Derek’s. The posturing, the sulking, the assholeness. It had just taken Stiles longer with Jackson because he didn’t want to understand him. Not after stealing Lydia and becoming a Kanima. That had taken Stiles some time to get over.

Derek knew, he wasn’t interested in the strawberry-blonde goddess anymore. At least not physically. Some days, Derek thought he would suffocate if he spent one more minute with the scents Stiles was emitting. That those were directed at him hadn’t been quite as quick of an observation on his part. Sure, he knew, Stiles was bisexual but that didn’t automatically mean, he was into Derek.

The surprise – or what was to him a surprise but not so much to the pack – came when Stiles blushed up to his hairline and ran out of the loft when Derek had casually commented on how his hoodie looked on him. That had been kind of hard to miss.

Derek’s brain short circuited when a sudden “thump” came from the table. Stiles’ heart. And it started beating, softly then quick and then racing.

“He’s-” Scott started but stopped mid-sentence when Stiles’ sat up suddenly, eyes wide. Brown eyes, Derek noted. Not shifted yet. Each of his betas had shifted after the bite. But Stiles had never done things the easy way, had he?

“What-” he coughed up a lung full of dirt, it seemed, bent over like he couldn’t breathe. Derek was quick to steady him.

“Stiles!” And Scott was gone. He threw his hands around Stiles, probably choking him to death. Meanwhile, a collective sigh of relief left the room. Erica had a smile on her face. Lydia curled into Jackson’s arms. Isaac held onto Stiles’ ankles, likely drawing pain. Deaton stepped back from the table, emitting a scent that was parts pleased and parts relieved. Allison remained where she was but her eyes had watered.

“You’re hurting him,” Derek pulled at Scott’s shoulder, gently, though. The sight which Scott had obscured was one Derek would never get used to. Stiles’ skin shimmered grey, there were bags under his eyes Derek would have liked to erase.

“I don’t-” another cough, “I don’t feel anything…”

Instantly, Derek was by his side, expecting as much of Stiles as he could. 

“What?”

“I should be in pain right now. I mean- I remembered…” his scent turned pained then. Derek couldn’t help himself. He reached out, placing a hand on Stiles’ arm. He knew, there shouldn’t be any physical wounds left but maybe, if he believed hard enough, he could draw pain from the wounds, he couldn’t see.

“You’re a werewolf, dude,” Scott grinned from ear to ear, “that does come with some benefits.”

“Oh.”

“Stiles-”

“Don’t look like that, Big Guy,” Stiles smiled up at him but his eyes were a little haunted still. Derek didn’t blame him. Hell, he probably looked worse on a daily basis.

“You saved me.”

“Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton spoke up, sparing Derek from apologising, “I need to do a few examinations. So, if the rest of you would kindly step outside?” He ushered them out, despite Scott’s and Derek’s joined glares. They could still hear Stiles’ running his mouth though. Which was good. Otherwise Derek would have demanded to stay. As long as he could hear Stiles, could determine, he was alive, he could stay outside and wait.

After what felt like an eternity, Stiles opened the door and stepped outside. He walked gingerly like he was waiting for a pain to set in if he made a wrong move. Derek understood that too.

“Who’s driving me home?” Stiles asked with a lopsided grin. Derek almost believed, he was alright. Almost. But when the rest of the pack walked to their cars and Derek directed Stiles to the Camaro, he saw how his shoulders sagged.

“I won’t ask,” he promised from the driver’s side.

“Thank you,” Stiles said and closed his eyes.

He didn’t speak again for the entire ride to his house.

* * *

> “My head’s killing me,” Stiles mumbled, mouth tasting like ashes. He had woken up about two minutes ago but hadn’t really been ready to announce it to the world yet.

To his left he heard a cough and then something his shoulder. He opened his eyes, blinked at the light which was way too bright for him.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” Lydia snapped, sounding more like a wolf than she would have probably liked.

Stiles noticed how exhausted all of them looked. Scott had bags under his eyes, skin a sickly white. Isaac’s hair wasn’t done, his curls drooped down almost greasily. Erica’s eyes held a haunted shadow, Boyd continued to stare at him like he thought Stiles would disappear if he turned his head. Allison kept fidgeting with her bow, a nervous habit she had picked up after the Alpha pack debacle. Jackson was pacing up and down the living room, lashing out at everyone and everything. Lydia’s mascara had broken down and her skin was thin like paper. And then there was Derek. Stiles had never seen him this pale or his shoulders this tense.

In all this though, he was missing one person. 

“Where’s my dad?” he didn’t care that he sounded like a petulant child. He _wanted_ his dad.

“Right here, kiddo,” the voice came from the kitchen followed by the Sheriff himself. He sat down on the chair beside the couch, pushing a strand of hair out of Stiles’ face. In his periphery,

Stiles saw Derek usher out the pack who went without much grumbling. He would thank him later, he decided.

“You cannot keep doing this to me, son.” His dad looked like he had aged ten years in the last two days. Stiles instantly felt worse.

“Sorry.”

“One day, you’re going to get yourself killed,” his father mumbled, horror evident on his face, “what are we supposed to do then, huh?” Stiles saw the tears in his eyes and wished, he could make them vanish. On days such as this, he wondered if he should have gone a different path, should have cut ties with Scott, should have left for uni. But his gaze strayed to Derek and how he was lingering in the background, lurking even. No, he realised, he would never leave Beacon Hills. And if he did, he would always come back. His family was here. The people he loved were here.

“I’ll do better, dad, I promise,” he vowed, squeezing his father’s hand with his.

“He told me,” the Sheriff said.

“Told you what?”

“What he did to save you.”

“And?” He knew, his father would be disappointed, would love him any less just because he was a wolf now. But he still wanted an answer.

“And how are you feeling?” the Sheriff asked like it was perfectly obvious a question. A smile tugged at the corners of Stiles’ lips.

“Tired,” he said, “like a bulldozer dozed me over.” Derek made a growling sound that probably translated as “your own stupid fault” but his dad only smiled back at him. Relief, Stiles noted, despite not really knowing how.

“Do you want to stay on the couch or go to bed?”

“Couch.”

“Okay,” his dad ruffled his hair, “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.” He walked towards the door, turned before he could step through it.

“By the way,” he said, “you’re grounded.”

Stiles needed a second to understand what had just come out of his dad’s mouth before spluttering.

“I’m twenty-two, you can’t ground me!”

His father simply made a “watch me” gesture and stalked out of the living room.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” Stiles hissed at Derek who was hunched over suspiciously. Derek held up his hands in surrender and came closer.

“Can you give me a blanket while you’re still standing?” Derek simply raised a brow but otherwise complied silently. Stiles tried his best to keep the tone light and their conversation where he wanted it. There was no need to discuss the hard stuff yet. He desperately didn’t _want_ to. 

“Why are you still cold?” Derek asked like Stiles knew the answer. Hello? He was entirely new to this.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “just know that I’m freezing.”

Derek huffed and draped the blanket all over him. Wrapped in softness, he felt the anxiety ease a little.

“Your heart’s slowing…”

“I’m guessing that’s a good thing?” Derek nodded but his eyes stayed fixed on Stiles’ chest like he anticipated a nervous break-down any minute now. Silence settled between them. Stiles knew

Derek was anxious to ask about what had happened but likely felt like he shouldn’t. Taking a deep breath, he decided to get it over with. At least, he didn’t have to tell the whole pack. Speaking to Derek about this was, for some reason, always easier. Stiles didn’t want to think it was because Derek had been through so much shit.

“They got sloppy last night,” he said and watched the tension in Derek’s neck reach a new height, “left me unattended too long.”

“You got yourself loose?”

“Yep.”

“How?”

“The shackles weren’t too tight so I turned and they had left this- I don’t know this wire thing laying out there in the open on a table. I twisted- you know, like to the right and- I swear I almost dislodged my shoulder- anyway- I got the wire with my feet ‘cause they’d taken my shoes- and don’t ask me how but I did a crunch- kind of- and I got the wire up to my hand with my toes.”

“I didn’t know, you were that bendy,” Derek murmured like that was the important part.

Stiles shrugged in a way that was supposed to mean “I’m not complaining”. He shifted on the couch, not really wanting to go on but knowing that he would have to.

After taking a breath, he continued, “I got loose and made a run for the door- I don’t think, they noticed right away but of course, the front door was stuck, so I had to throw myself against it to get it open- obviously that was when they came running…” he trailed off, aware how his pulse raced at the memory. 

“But you made it,” Derek said, “you escaped.”

“Wasn’t good enough.” The self-deprecation in his tone must have set Derek off because his throat emitted a growling sound Stiles knew all too well. He always made that whenever Stiles berated himself.

“What?” he snapped, “if I had been better, they wouldn’t even have noticed I was gone until I was far enough away. But because I screwed up, they not only followed but now I’m like this!” He pointed emphatically at himself.

“Is it really so bad?” Derek asked, eyes on the floor, “being like us?”

“That’s not what this is about and you know it,” Stiles snapped, getting agitated again, “it’s got nothing to do with that. I just-” he broke off, unsure how to explain it.

“You just didn’t want it…” Derek finished for him, eyes still not meeting his. Stiles felt awful for Derek thinking like that but a part of him agreed. He didn’t want to be a wolf. After having been the resident human for so long, he took pride in his status. A part of him had always been afraid, if he was bitten, he wouldn’t measure up. That even as a wolf, he would still be his annoying, fragile self who needed rescue at every opportunity.

“Doesn’t matter now,” he tried to settle, to shove the subject aside, “it happened and I need to deal with that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“If you apologise one more time, I’ll stand up and leave.” Despite this being his house. He would crawl up on the room if it meant getting away from Derek when he made that face. 

“Stiles-”

“I mean it, Derek. Look, you can’t keep doing this. You saved me. And I’m really glad you did, okay? I am. I just need time to get on board with this whole wolf thing.”

“So it’s not-” Derek stopped himself, looked hesitant like he wanted to ask something but didn’t know how.

“It’s not what?” Stiles encouraged, way too curious to let this slide easily.

“You don’t hate me?”

“What?” Stiles was aware of how unattractive he looked when spluttering like that, but he couldn’t help it, “where did _that_ come from?”

They must have been having two entirely different conversations if Derek thought, Stiles hated him. As if he could ever.

Nuh uh. That train had long ago left the station, Stiles’ sanity in the back and tossed up like a present. 

Derek didn’t answer but that kind of said it all anyway. 

“Listen up, Big Guy,” Stiles leant forward, “you _saved_ me. I would never hate you for that.” 

Derek’s shoulders sagged a bit but not so far down Stiles knew they were over the proverbial hill. He sighed. This was going to be a long night. If Derek wanted to be stubborn and refuse to unwind, Stiles had no choice but to put it all out on the table. Well, not _all_ of it, since he didn’t want to monumentally screw up their friendship, but the necessary bits.

“You know what I kept thinking? Back there?” Derek’s eyes snapped up at that, narrowing in on Stiles like he simultaneously willed him to go on and dreaded the moment he did. It almost made Stiles smile.

“I kept holding on,” he whispered, still maintain eye contact, “thinking that maybe if I just held on long enough, you would pull me back- you would save me… and you did,” he swallowed and his throat clicked dryly, “I’m not mad about that.”

“Still-”

“No, Derek, I’m serious. I never- look, I never wanted to be a wolf but if it’s either that or dying?” he shrugged, “the decision’s not hard.”

“You shouldn’t have been in a situation where you had to decide.”

“Neither should you.”

“Like that was an option,” Derek said it with so much conviction, Stiles couldn’t suppress a slight shiver. 

“I mean,” Stiles felt a hesitant smile poking at his lips, “could’ve let me kick the bucket and be blessed with eternal silence.”

“You say that like you wouldn’t have found a way to come back as a ghost and haunt me.”

Stiles spluttered at Derek’s blatant teasing, almost flailing off the couch. The only thing that kept him upright was Derek’s grip on his shirt.

“I don’t know why I thought you’d be more graceful as a wolf…” Derek muttered but Stiles saw how his cheeks dimpled and decided not to be too offended. At least that traumatized look had vanished from Derek’s face. Stiles would move heaven and earth to keep it that way.

“Excuse you,” he puffed out his chest, “I am very graceful, I’ll have you know.”

“Mhmh,” Derek’s eyebrow was raised in that infuriating way and Stiles wanted to punch him. Softly. With his lips. 

_You know what?  
_

His crush hadn’t vanished yet and it wasn’t about to now, no point in fighting it.

“How are you feeling?” Derek asked out of nowhere, doing a bad job at pretending, it had just occurred to him. Stiles wasn’t fooled, however. He knew Derek had wanted to ask that since the moment Stiles had woken up but Stiles hadn’t been in the right mind to answer honestly, so Derek had refrained. It should have been creepy, the way Derek seemed to read him so easily but Stiles had made his peace with it long ago. It was also one of the reasons, he had fallen for Derek so hard.

“Wrong,” Stiles said, still unused to this new version of him. He supposed it would take him a while to feel like himself again.

“Wrong how?” Even if Stiles wasn’t in tune with his enhanced sense yet, he could swear he smelled Derek’s anxiety from where he was sitting. A strange scent, sharp and hectic. 

“Just-” he breathed through his mouth to avoid smelling the unpleasantness any longer, “just wrong like- I don’t know- my body’s thrumming with energy but I feel like I could sleep for a week. The light’s too bright and I can hear your neighbour putting away the groceries.”

“Stiles, breathe,” Derek’s hand landed on his thigh, squeezed to get his attention. Stiles didn’t know why he thought that would stop him from hyperventilating but then he remembered that Derek didn’t know, how his touch made Stiles’ head spin. 

“I just- I don’t know where to focus…”

“Isaac had that problem too,” Derek said, “maybe you can talk to him about it once you’re-” he stopped himself short, probably as to not rip Stiles out of his bubble yet.

“Once I’m not freaking? Or once I’ve recovered from almost dying?” it shouldn’t have come out as harsh as it did but Stiles was still freaked. He felt like he was entitled, though, given the recent changes to his genetical structure and all. 

Derek settled on “once you’re ready,” but his eyes were a little less vibrant and a bit more dimmed down.

* * *

Derek had spent the night, had even carried Stiles up to his bed before dropping him on it unceremoniously. Stiles had laughed. It was that moment when he had realised, he would be okay. If he could still laugh, he would be fine. It scared him a little, how normal abduction and torture had become in their lives. But maybe it was better like this, that he could bounce back from it. Sure, he would need a lot of time to acutely progress what had happened, how they had hurt him until he had wished himself dead, but for now?

He would be okay. 

As long as Derek was here with him, things were fine.

In the morning, things looked dire again when he walked to the bathroom and promptly ripped off the door handle. Who would have thought Derek could do a hyena imitation?

Not Stiles, that was for sure.

With flaming cheeks, he attempted to screw the handle back on but failed and had to ask his dad to do it. The raised brow was sufficiently ignored. By lunchtime, Stiles had a resemblance of control back, despite having almost crushed Derek’s hand when he had tried to pull him into the kitchen to make breakfast. But they didn’t talk about that. They also didn’t acknowledge how Derek kept close, how good he smelled to Stiles, how his abs rippled just the right way under his shirt.

“You smell better,” Derek remarked leaning over the table to reach the coffee pot, “less anxious.”

“New day, new me?” Stiles tried but failed to make light of the situation. He sighed, “the wrongness is mostly gone. It’s- I felt like I needed time for my body to settle- it was like- like I was thrumming with adrenaline.”

Derek nodded like he knew what Stiles was talking about when Stiles himself couldn’t make sense of it.

“It’ll take time to get used to it- get your emotions under control…”

“I remember,” Stiles said, thinking back to Scott’s bursts of anger, “but I have you,” he added and watched Derek blush.

“Oh, come on, like I’m stupid enough not to bully you into helping me,” he smirked when Derek flushed even more. Up to his hairline even.

“Scott didn’t want my help,” Derek reminded him.

“I’m not Scott,” Stiles retorted, stirring his coffee. Derek’s answer shouldn’t have sounded heated. His heart shouldn’t have set out for a beat when Derek’s eyes zeroed in on him and Stiles felt entirely too hot.

“I know.”

* * *

Something wasn’t right. Derek should have realised it earlier. But Stiles- Stiles’ shift was different. He hadn’t noticed, at first, because claws were claws. But the eyes. Those were hard to dismiss. Stiles’ eyes didn’t flare golden but bronze. A subtle difference, the betas didn’t seem to care about. But Derek, once he saw it, did. He stopped Stiles from charging at him with a raised hand, forced him to stand utterly still, while Derek tilted his head up. The sunlight hit the iris just right.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked and tried to turn his head away. Derek refused to let him.

“Derek-”

“Your eyes,” Derek whispered. He didn’t give a damn that Stiles stared at him, that it sounded strange. 

“What about them?” Stiles shifted uncomfortably, like Derek’s scrutiny made him uneasy.

“Nothing,” Derek let go of Stiles’ chin, stepped back. He would have to do research on his own this time. There was no point worrying Stiles when it could easily be nothing at all. Only, deep down, he didn’t feel like it was nothing. He had no idea what that could mean. The consequences, the implications had Derek sick with fear. Maybe he had done it wrong. Maybe the bite hadn’t taken like they thought it had.

“Shift for me?” he urged, watching Stiles’ face closely. That didn’t look normal either. The fangs, the sideburns, the colour. It wasn’t really too noticeable but now that Derek paid attention, now that he _looked_ , he saw it plain as day. All of it was wrong. In a nuanced sort of way. And after inspecting it up-close, dread settled in Derek’s stomach. He was sure.

That wasn’t a wolf’s face.

That was something entirely different.

* * *

“You didn’t think it necessary to tell me about this progression immediately?” Deaton sounded entirely unimpressed with Derek. He talked like Stiles wasn’t here, like Derek had just made a colossal mistake. Hell, _Stiles_ didn’t even know why he was here in the first place. Derek had made him come without telling him why. 

“You should have come here at one.”

“Why?” Thank you, Stiles wanted to say, kudos to Derek for asking the important stuff.

“This is a very delicate situation. The process could have gone horribly wrong.” Okay, it seemed as if Stiles had missed some important part of the conversation. Or Derek had called ahead to inform Deaton. 

“He’s fine.” Derek said, waving in his general direction. Stiles was getting rather fed up with being talked about but not talked to.

“ _Evidently_ _not_ ,” Deaton turned to look at him with barely disguised scorn.

“Seems to me you’re freaking about nothing,” Stiles interjected, “the bite took and I’m fine. So, what’s really the matter?” He addressed Deaton but looked at Derek. After all Derek was the one who was far easier to crack. 

“I’d imagine, you came here with a purpose,” Deaton addressed Derek. _Again_. “Since you didn’t find it necessary to do so earlier.”

“His shift,” Derek made a throw-away gesture Stiles didn’t understand, “it’s different.”

 _Wait_.

Now hang on a minute. Derek hadn’t told him that before. That was not why he had come here. When he said so, Derek looked at him like he was begging. Like he needed Stiles to be quiet and postpone this discussion to a later date. Stiles kept his mouth shut but only because Derek’s eyes were so wide with desperation.

Meanwhile, Deaton looked like he was not surprised by this outcome. Which made Stiles furious. 

“I wouldn’t have expected you to do this any other way,” Deaton had turned to Stiles, a small smile ticking at the corner of his lip.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Apparently, judging by Derek’s raised brow, this was news to him too.

“It means, Mr. Stilinski, that while the bite did take,” he paused dramatically in what felt to Stiles like pure joy for being ominous, “it certainly did not make you a wolf.”

“What the- what else am I supposed to be then? huh?” in all his anger, his speech slurred. 

“What does this look like to you?” Deaton didn’t even inspect his fangs, still that infuriating smile on his lips.

“What do you think?”

“Oh no! No! You’ll give me some answers, damn it!” He didn’t want to look in a mirror. He hadn’t looked in a mirror while shifted and he would not start now. Maybe he was too afraid of what he would see, maybe he didn’t need the proof of what he had done staring him in the face. 

“Just-” Derek tried, hand outstretched towards Stiles, probably because he sensed how much fury was pulsing through Stiles at being denied answers once again. Deaton’s pleased expression dimmed a bit but he sighed.

“Not a wolf, Mr. Stilinski, but something that fits you much better…”

“Fox,” Derek breathed, sounding like he was in awe “a fox”.

Stiles’ entire body stiffened in an instant upon hearing that particular word. He had never quite recovered, from the Nogitsune and its destructive pull. To hear Deaton say, it fitted him, being a fox, when all he wanted was to leave that part of him behind felt like a kick in the teeth. 

“Great,” he muttered. Derek’s eyes were still on him and Stiles almost didn’t want to look up. Despite how Derek had sounded breathless, Stiles was afraid, he would see pity in his gaze. 

“So, what you’re saying is that a fox fits me better since I was the one responsible for that whole debacle with the Nogitsune. Anything else you want to tell me? Do I just randomly sprout a pack of Japanese ghosts too? Hell, why not throw in the Darach too while you’re at it?!”

“Stiles…”

“What?!” he bit out. That was when he noticed the blood dripping from his lips and the way his nails dug into the palms of his hands, “oh”.

“Breathe with me,” Derek settled in front of him, took Stiles’ hands in his, “in and out, that’s good.”

“Deaton wasn’t saying that,” Derek said, his voice somewhere between a lullaby and biting. Stiles supposed, the latter was directed at Deaton and not at him. 

“As I was saying,” Deaton continued like nothing had happened, “this form suits you better than a wolf shift.”

“Why?” he knew, he shouldn’t be so rude, should be more respectful but at the moment, he didn’t give a rat’s ass about what was expected of him. He was the one with the panic attack here because his shift – apparently – was all wrong. He just wished, he could un-see the way Derek’s eyes had widened when he had shifted. It had been so reminiscent of Kate, Stiles only had managed not to barf because he hadn’t ingested anything today.

“Have you looked at yourself?” The answer to that was a solid no and Deaton doubtlessly knew it.

“Derek, maybe it would be a good idea for you to get a mirror,” he said and made it sound like an instruction rather than a question.

And Derek, like the absolute softie he was, didn’t move a muscle, didn’t walk away before asking Stiles “are you okay?”

Despite wanting to stomp his foot and throw a tantrum – which he felt entitled to – he nodded, squeezed Derek’s hand for the last time before letting go. In an instant, he missed Derek’s warmth even though, he probably shouldn’t get too used to it anyway.

“You want me to shift in front of mirror why exactly? Is that supposed to be like my say yes to the dress, beautiful swan moment?”  
Instead of an answer, Deaton kept smiling with that infuriating curl of his lips. Like he knew so much more than he was letting on and it was getting to Stiles on a personal level at this point.

“Not gonna tell me, then?” he didn’t even address Deaton, just mumbled it towards the floor. In the end, his curiosity beat his fear and he opened his eyes to look. What he saw made his jaw drop.

“But-”

“That’s what I saw,” Derek explained, “I’ve never seen this colour before.”

“Bronze,” Deaton said, casual as you please.

“But that’s-”

“Not what you expected?” Derek growled when Deaton said out loud what everyone in the room knew to be true. 

“I thought-”

“But they are not,” Derek said with emphasis, “they’re not and they never were. Because it wasn’t your fault.”

Something warm and tingly spread through Stiles at those words, said in a tone so genuine. He could almost believe Derek then. Almost.

“How- I mean, how’s that possible?” he asked, feeling like the floor had opened under him and he was freefalling.

“There is a reason for this, Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton said, mystical as ever, “a reason why your body chose this form. As there is a reason why you can handle mountain ash, why the Nogitsune picked _you_.”

“I’m guessing it wasn’t for my good looks and dashing personality.” 

With more tact than Stiles would have thought Deaton capable of, the man didn’t comment. Then again, maybe it wasn’t tact but simply the way Deaton operated.

“It picked you because of your blood, your… spark.”

“You said that before…” he muttered, catching on despite not wanting to be intrigued. He just couldn’t resist. Not when a mystery presented itself like this. Much less, if it concerned him personally. And that word. That word had been shoved deep into Stiles’ memory, somewhere it lurked but didn’t rear its head until now. 

“It is rare,” Deaton said, “but it is possible.”

“ _What’s_ possible?” Again with the vagueness. Did that man have no straightforward bone in his body? Even now? 

“Some people have a dormant power, untapped within them.” Because that sounded not ominous at all. Sarcasm off. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “And?”

“They can do things, can make things work that logically shouldn’t.” Slowly, Stiles began to understand. There had been an incident, hadn’t there? 

“Like I did with the mountain ash,” he said and made it sound more like a question than it should have for he was quite sure. 

“Like you did with the mountain ash,” Deaton conceded, half-way to smiling. Which was not good. Deaton’s smiles were almost as bad as Chris’. Only less lethal usually. 

“But- what does that- I mean, you make it sound like there’s something- I don’t know- in me?” he tried wording it as carefully as possible for fear of making a total fool of himself. Which, there was no need for, apparently, since Deaton’s answer meant, he had got it right. 

“There is.”

“What?” Stiles asked, not because he hadn’t heard but because he needed it to be voiced by someone not residing in his brain. 

“There is something in you. I have been monitoring you closely, Mr. Stilinski. I have always had my suspicions that there was something about you.”

The “why?” question came rather automatically. 

“Scott.”

“What?” Okay and now Deaton had lost him again. Meanwhile, Derek hadn’t moved a muscle. Once more, Stiles got the fleeting suspicion, he knew a lot more than he let on. And Stiles didn’t _like_ it. 

“Scott chose you. Do you think that is coincidence?” 

“Yes?”

Judging by Deaton’s insistent “no” that had been the wrong thing to see. Only that Stiles didn’t know what else there was. He and Scott had been friends forever. Of course, Scott had come to him. Who else was there?

He was reaching the very end of his patience. And, whenever he did that, he worked himself up to a point where he had zero control over what came out of his mouth. 

“Look, I know you get off on being as vague as humanly possible but could you, just this once, make an exception?! Because I’m kind of losing it here.” Granted, that could have been said a little less insultingly but he needed answers and he needed them _now_. 

“Scott chose you because of what you are- what you carry inside you. As did Ms. Martin if I am not wrong.”

“What do you mean chose me?” Like Scott, he _chose_ to ignore that Ms. Martin bit for now and focussed on the really important part. Which was to determine whether Deaton had lost his marbles somewhere or if he enjoyed beating around the bush. 

“They gathered around you,” Deaton said “a newly turned wolf and a banshee. Two alphas without a pack.”

“Two?”

“Peter,” Derek suddenly said with a noticeably less angry bite in his tone than usual, “Peter”.

“What about him?”

Derek inhaled loudly before turning to Stiles, eyes wide.

Deaton continued, not missing a beat “you said, he offered you the bite.”

“So, what? I still don’t get it!” Stiles’ brain, still busy in working out how it had come to this kind of nonsense, screeched to a halt. But Deaton didn’t wait for him. 

“Scott, Peter, Derek. They all found you. And when you came into your power, as did Ms. Martin here.”

“Okay, hold on for a minute. You’re making it sound like I did all that when Scott was the one who got bitten in the first place.”

“You are missing the point, Mr. Stilinski.”

“Or maybe you’re just not good at explanations.”

“Stiles-” Derek’s tone implied, he didn’t approve of Stiles’ word choices but Stiles was way beyond hearing it.

“Scott came to _you_ ,” Deaton repeated, “he found you when he needed help. Not because you are his best friend, but because a part of him recognised a part of you.”

“WHAT PART?” Stiles exploded, yelling so loudly, he saw Derek attempt to cover his ears. Which should not have been adorable as it was. 

“The spark, Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton continued, unfazed by his outburst. 

“The spark,” Stiles repeated, noticeably more biting because he just couldn’t _deal_ , okay? 

“Yes.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” he didn’t even want to ask at this point. Derek eyed his chest with a raised brow and a concerned expression, probably because he could hear each attempt of Stiles’ heart to beat out of his chest. A violent shiver ran through him once he realised, Derek’s heart wasn’t faring much better.

“It means, little spark, that you’re not as human as you thought.” Okay no. Hell to the absolute fucking shit no. Where the hell had Peter come from? How on earth had no one stopped him yet? Why was he even in the goddamn room?

“Peter.” At least, Derek seemed just as pissed off at his presence. It was a small consolation.

“Did you never wonder why I asked you?”

“Because you miraculously discovered you had manners that day?”

Peter smiled and it could have easily meant they were all about to die. That much did his smile look like apocalypse now. And triumphant. That too. Which made Stiles even more uneasy, if that was possible.

Peter didn’t seem to mind the bite in his tone or the way his claws had come out. He continued as if nothing was wrong.

“I didn’t need to ask you, surely you understand that.” Stiles had wondered but he wasn’t about to give in so easily. Where Peter was concerned, one rarely ever should.

“So?” he prompted when Peter made no move to explain.

“I _asked_ you, Stiles.”

“I think we all have understood that by now, thank you,” Stiles quipped back, hackles rising again. He felt like Peter was trying to make an idiot out of him and it riled him up. It took a while for him to realise that the new powers certainly didn’t help him keep his anger under control.

“I don’t think you have,” Peter said with a slant to his mouth that resembled a smirk so much, a voice in Stiles urged him to bash in those pearly whites. Derek’s hand on his arm pulled him back as if he had recognised the anger burning in him as dangerous.

“See, I bit Scott out of necessity,” he uncrossed his arms, pointing at Stiles, “but you, I _wanted_ to be part of my pack. That’s why I _asked_ you.”

It was Derek who finally caught on, spluttering suddenly, eyes wide.

“You knew?” he asked, voice tight like the idea didn’t appeal to him.

“Ah, I knew they didn’t keep you around just for your good looks, dear nephew.” Derek’s scowl deepened. He looked perpetually angry, but on Stiles’ behalf.

“Stiles,” Peter snapped his fingers in front of his face in an utterly obnoxious manner to re-direct his attention back to him.

“I could smell it on you when you talked to me. Magic always leaves a trace in the blood.”

* * *

The door fell close, leaving Stiles and Derek the only ones to remain. Stiles was turned away from him, fiddling with the blanket.

“How come you didn’t?” Derek had dreaded the question for the entire time Peter had talked. His hope that Stiles had forgotten about it, since he hadn’t addressed it until now, was squashed instantly.

“I didn’t?” he tried to hedge but knowing Stiles, it wouldn’t work.

“You know what I mean.”

“You did smell different,” Derek finally relented, looking at the ground, “I didn’t put it together.” How could he tell Stiles what exactly he smelled like to Derek without blowing their casual friendship thing? The answer was simple. He couldn’t. There was no way the implication would go over Stiles’ head. The kid – man, really – was too smart for that.

“You knew what magic smelled like, though. Your pack was old as time…” Stiles didn’t seem to address him directly. He kept mumbling, like he was talking to himself. Derek prayed he was.

“I haven’t smelled good magic yet. And never anything like a spark.”

“Oh.” Thank God, Stiles didn’t know how to read half-truths yet. Not even Derek’s betas – well, his _other_ betas – had mastered that skill. It rarely ever came easy to bitten wolfs.

“It would have saved me a lot of hassle…” Stiles continued, sounding almost wistful.

“What?” 

“In the pool. Do you think that was-” he broke off, shuffled his feet. Derek realised, he was nervous for some reason.

“You held me up for two hours,” Derek said carefully because the idea had just occurred to him too, “do you think…” He had wondered for a long time how a human had managed that. Stiles had always been determined but even determination couldn’t make up muscle that wasn’t there.

“You think that was it? The spark or whatever? That that’s the reason, we both didn’t drown?” 

“You _believed_ , you could hold me up,” Derek said, not really sure if he could make the answer an affirmative. 

Stiles smiled that little half-smile of his that looked entirely too much like self-deprecation.

“So, it wasn’t my awesome strength then?”

Derek wished, he could wipe that sour turn off his face and replace it with confidence. But he couldn’t. No matter what he said to Stiles, he would never see himself the way Derek saw him. And not just Derek. There had been so many not-so-subtle glances at the clubs the pack frequented, at the uni Stiles went to, at the restaurants he ate at. Really, Derek deserved a medal for taking it the way he had. He had done his very best not to scowl at them and scare them away, pretending to be supportive when in reality he had wanted to smash their faces in for looking at Stiles. It was all for naught anyway, since Stiles didn’t notice when someone hit on him. He shrugged it off like it was a joke or not meant seriously, like the people who approached him could never be actually interested. 

Derek scoffed.

On days like this, he contemplated telling Stiles about his massive, stupid, unreciprocated crush. Just so that he would feel better, so that he saw, someone liked him for who he was. But then, Derek would be vulnerable to rejection. And since Stiles wasn’t interested in him as a romantic partner, he didn’t feel particularly compelled. Sure, Stiles wanted him _physically_ , that much was beyond obvious, but Derek wanted _more_. More of which Stiles would not give to him so why bother trying?

“Can I stay at the loft tonight?” The question ripped him out of his thoughts immediately. He couldn’t help his heart jerking funnily in his chest but Stiles didn’t seem to notice.

“Why?” his voice came out normal, thank god.

“Don’t feel like going home,” Stiles shrugged.

“But your dad-”

“Has the nightshift.”

That made sense. Stiles didn’t like being alone right now. Derek didn’t quite understand the impulse; he had always found peace in solitude. But ever since Isaac had started living with him, he had come to enjoy company on occasions. It almost reminded him of having his family around.

He forced his head back to the conversation at hand.

“Sure,” he easily agreed, opening the door to let Stiles pass. A whiff of his scent hit Derek square in the face when Stiles ducked under his arm. He inhaled despite knowing he shouldn’t. That smell of cinnamon and rain and the forest was still the same. It hadn’t changed since Stiles’ transition to werefox. Sure, there was the underlying layer of blood but Derek was so familiar with it, he didn’t pay it any attention. Now that he knew why Stiles smelled the way he did, why the scent drew him in so forcibly, he tuned into it even more.

That first night in the woods, when two stupid teenagers had crossed the territory line, he had been stupefied by it. The second Stiles had opened his mouth though, the spell had been broken and Derek had been back to normal. Sure, it was a pretty smell, but it came with an annoying mouth and sarcastic quips. Derek had had no qualms hating Stiles, throwing him against hard surfaces.

Although, in retrospect that one should have been a rather big clue. Only after Stiles had hesitated between running after Scott and staying with Derek had the last puzzle piece fallen into place. Hit over the head with the realisation that Stiles had wormed his way deep into Derek’s heart with the intention to stay, Derek had done what he could to avoid the truth. Stiles still eyed him funnily whenever Braden was brought up. That hadn’t been his finest moment, Derek could admit.

But that smell being a spark? That painted the entire thing in a different light. Why was Derek so drawn to it? Why did the idea of Stiles make him so wobbly?

He would be eternally grateful that he hadn’t given in to that smell that night. At least, now he knew, his feelings for Stiles, inconvenient as the may be, were real and not some concoction of a smell and a pretty face.

“Derek?” Stiles snapped his fingers in front of his face in an almost playful manner, “you staying here tonight?”

“No.” He squared his shoulders and marched to the Camaro. No need to tell Stiles any of this.

Not when Stiles didn’t want to hear it.

* * *

Stiles remained on the couch for the entire evening. He didn’t move a muscle when the doorbell rang. He didn’t stand when Derek asked him to pick a movie. He just didn’t feel like it. The day had been far too long already and he wanted to stay right where he was. Possibly forever.

“You’ll on it if you keep that up,” Derek growled beside him. Stiles had no idea what he was talking about when he realised, he was sucking on his straw again despite nothing being in his glass.

Now, Stiles wasn’t as in-tune with all these new confusing senses as he would have liked but one thing was still abundantly clear. That thing, right there? That was Derek’s heart. And Derek’s heart had done something really weird. It had set out a beat. And if Stiles wasn’t totally wrong – and in this instance, he would bet his ass, he wasn’t – hen it had set out a beat precisely when Stiles had swallowed down his straw.

_Which, hold on for a minute._

In the span of the second it took for Stiles to put the straw out of his mouth, he managed to sort through all the possible explanations for this particular reaction. Could be, Derek’s hear beat differently like his own. Could be, he had seen something over Stiles’ should that had spooked him. Could be, Derek was worried, he would swallow down the straw and choke to death on it.

Could be, Derek was attracted to him. Or at least to the motion of his lips around the straw.

But that was nonsense, right?

Because Derek didn’t do this. Derek didn’t get laid and he didn’t look at anyone these days with _that_ intent. And he certainly didn’t look at Stiles that way. Never had.

Only Stiles’ dad had raised him to eliminate the unlikely theories and stick to the likely ones. And the likely one in this case was-

_Nope._

Stiles forced himself to stop that train of thought right there. He had wallowed in self-pity for more hours than he could count and he would not fall for this again. Despite the nagging feeling of hope, he settled on this being a simple glitch.

Just a glitch.

* * *

The next morning, after an excruciating talk with his dad, who was less than pleased Stiles hadn’t called to tell hi of this new discovery concerning his belonging to a species classified not only shifter but magical too, Stiles walked up to Deaton’s clinic with a strange feeling in his chest.

“There was something you didn’t tell me yesterday,” he said upon entering.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You were agitated, angry. I didn’t want to strain you further.” That was actually quite considerate, Stiles had to admit. 

“You left Derek at home?” Something about the way Deaton said that didn’t sit right with Stiles. Like Deaton was implying or hinting or being an overall asshole again. He decided not to comment on it.

“What didn’t you tell me?” Stiles really needed Deaton to lay it all out for him. He couldn’t stand this anymore.

Deaton sighed but it was more of an “okay” sigh than a “you’re annoying me again” sigh. “

“As I have told you, people like you have certain… talents,” he paused as if he needed to find the right words, “and I would like for you to train yours.”

“Train?” 

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Like one trains any kind of magic. With practise.” Stiles rolled his eyes. He really had to get a grip on his annoyance. Ever since becoming a were-being, he didn’t handle his emotions well.

Actually, that reminded him, he had to give props to Isaac. The kid had been confronted with the worst kind of abuse and had still kept his head. Probably the reason why Derek had insisted over and over that Stiles should talk to him. However, that was not going to help him right now, so he tried to keep his mind rooted in the room and his thoughts from wandering. 

“At the off-chance of being redundant, I’ll ask again: how?”

“With your mind, Stiles.”

“My mind,” he scoffed, “you do remember I have ADHD, right? Focus and all that zen Lydia tried to get me into doesn’t really do it for me, doc.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Deaton said but offered no explanation as to why he sounded so confident.

“So what? I just concentrate real hard and things start to happen?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what?”

“You need to channel your energy into manifesting what you wish to happen. You told me about that incident in the pool. You held up Derek even though you shouldn’t have been able to. A feat as this was only possible because you were focussing all your thoughts on keeping the both of you afloat.”

“I figured,” Stiles shrugged his shoulder, like his heart wasn’t racing and his brain wasn’t overloaded with information.

“There are certain techniques I can teach you,” Deaton nodded, more to himself than to Stiles but still, “for example, you could visualise the preserve, search it with your mind.”

“What for?”

“To see who is there. Who shouldn’t be there, possibly.” That was when it finally clicked in Stiles’ head. This was his chance to help, his opportunity to become more than a dead weight in need of protection. This was a skill no one else had, something, he could do that nobody else could. And he could use it to keep his pack safe. It there was someone on the territory, who should not be there, and Deaton was telling him the truth, he would know. He could warn the pack in time.

He wouldn’t be useless anymore.

* * *

The next pack meeting was tense to say the least. Peter, for some reason, was still there, nearly boasting with pride at having known Stiles’ true nature first. Of course, it was _the_ topic of the day. Until Derek stopped the talking with one rather crude hand gesture and started mapping out a new patrol plan. Ever since the hunter incident they didn’t discuss with Stiles present, Derek was more on edge about checking the territory.

Stiles didn’t pay too much attention. He wouldn’t be doing those runs with anyone but Derek anyway. And Derek would alert him when it was time. He leaned back on the couch, stretched until his back popped pleasantly. Erica made an “ew” sound and scooted away from him like he had cooties or something. His sweater had ridden up through the motion and he pulled it down, straightening the hem while he was at it.

He caught a sniff of something then. A scent he had yet to categorise. It coated his nose like honey, gliding down to his mouth until he could almost taste it. So sweet and deliciously smooth. He turned to Scott, sceptical of that scent because it smelled so addictive.

“What’s that?” he asked softly, so that the others in the room might not hear.

“What’s what?” Ever oblivious Scotty, Stiles thought to himself and smiled. 

“That honey smell? I’ve never noticed it before.”

“Oh,” Scott blushed up to the tips of his ears, “that’s attraction.” 

“Attraction?”

“Yeah.”

“But who-” he trailed off when he noticed Derek’s ears flaming. That- that was new information. Stiles had not the faintest clue how to process any of this. First the heartbeat and now this?

He had to get another opinion on the matter and fast. Because if there was even the slightest chance that Derek was attracted to him, he needed to know.

In order for Derek not to catch on, he sent Scott and Lydia and inconspicuous message, asking them to meet at his place after the pack meeting was done. Nothing in his message said there was danger to be expected or that they needed to hurry but both of them raced to Stiles’ house like the building was on fire. Figured, Stiles thought, seeing as they were so used to threats coming at them left and right that Stiles should have taken that into consideration.

“What is it?” Lydia rushed forward, still with countenance but a little frantic.

Scott followed her closely, asking “why couldn’t you tell us at Derek’s?”

“Close the door,” Stiles reminded him before settling on his couch. He was sure, Derek was not lurking in any corner because Isaac had just texted him a pic of the two of them cooking dinner. Which should not have been adorable but alas.

“Is Derek attracted to me?” he blurted out, only to be mortified when he realised what he had just voiced. That was meant to be for his brain alone. Why had he said that?

Scott shrugged, looking completely nonchalant “I mean, yeah?” 

“Do you mean to tell me that you had me drive here in a rush for something that is obvious to anyone with eyes?”

“Dude,” Scott sounded more alert now, probably because even Stiles himself could smell the anxiety he was emitting.

“Didn’t you know that?” 

“No!” His voice had reached hyena levels which was not a pleasant thing to hear. 

“Stiles, sweetie, how about you keep the banshee thing to me?” Lydia had a smile on her face that could have been patronising if not for the way her gaze was soft and gentle.

“Why are you freaking out about Derek finding you attractive?”

“Because I didn’t _know_?!”

“But that’s a good thing, right? You like him.”

“Scott-”

“Stiles,” Lydia intercepted before the screeching picked up again, “why are you freaking out?”

“Because I don’t know what do with that!”

“Do with that?” Oh Scotty. Stiles loved him to bits but sometimes he wondered how he hadn’t died yet. Sheer, dumb luck probably.

“Yes,” he hissed, one second away from pulling his hair. Lydia, thank heaven for her, grabbed his hands before he could do something this detrimental and forced him to look at her.

“Is this because you were sure, he doesn’t want you and now that you know he does, your world is turning upside down?” 

He could have kissed her for putting it into words. You know, if he was still into her.

“I still don’t understand,” Scott murmured, “you want him, he wants you. I thought, you’d be happy.” Deep down, Stiles suspected it was because Scott had never been shoved aside like he had. He had never been the sidekick, never had been overlooked. And Stiles still couldn’t wrap his head around what his senses had been telling him. Only, it was getting harder to ignore.

“What’s up with that anyway?” he asked, suddenly putting it together.

“What’s up with what?” Even Lydia’s expression was confused. Probably because neither of them could read his mind, which Stiles was eternally grateful for.

“You knew he was attracted to me and you didn’t tell me.”

“Uhm yeah, I did.”

“I think, I would have remembered that conversation,” Stiles snapped. 

“I told you at least twice,” Scott remained gentle when he talked to him, like he knew, Stiles wasn’t angry at him. Not really anyway. But this was a lot, okay?

“I told you, he was staring at you and how I couldn’t be around you when he did that because it made me want to barf.”

“But that was a joke- you were just joking…”

“Or you decided to take it that way,” Lydia reminded him of his eternal flaw. Just, it was so easy to dismiss any and all clues of the contrary because Stiles knew Derek and him would never happen. Derek was just, he was so much out of his league, it was tragic. 

He remained standing for entirely too long a time, staring into nothing. In his mind, every interaction of the last year or so was put into focus. It felt almost like violently shaking a box of puzzle pieces until magically, they all clicked together.

This all rather looked like he had missed a vital connection somewhere for the entire time and now, slowly but with impending doom on its tail, realisation dawned.

“Derek is attracted to me…” Stiles finally whispered, mainly to himself. 

“Yeah,” Scott reached out his hand like he expected an excited fist bump. Only Stiles wasn’t done. Something had occurred to him while his mind whirled with this new input.

“Derek is attracted to me and he knows, I’m attracted to him.”

“Why do you think he knows?”

“Because you can smell it on me. You said it yourself.” He really shouldn’t have to explain this. Not to anyone. It was so blatantly obvious. 

“So?”

“If _you_ can smell it, don’t you think Derek does too?” Derek who was a born wolf, who had trained all his betas to recognise smells. There was no way in hell that Derek didn’t know, Stiles was attracted to him. Which made this all the more excruciatingly embarrassing. 

“Oh.”

“I never said anything because I thought there was no chance in hell, he would ever find me attractive.”

“But?”

“But he _knows_ , I want him. He knows, Scott.”

“I still don’t get what the problem is.”

“It’s not that he didn’t speak up because he was afraid I wouldn’t reciprocate. Because he knows that.”

“Then why didn’t-”

“Exactly!” Stiles flailed his arms, like that would encompass all he was feeling at the moment, “which means there is only one other explanation why he never said anything.”  
Scott looked like he didn’t want to ask for fear of upsetting Stiles. Which was nice and all but also way too late. “It means he doesn’t want to want me.” With that, Stiles sank back into the couch cushions, dread filling his stomach. 

“You don’t know that,” Lydia said with an earnest expression. But Stiles could hear the way her heart traipsed throughout the sentence. She simply said it to reassure him, but she wasn’t _sure_.

“I do know that. There is literally no other reason.”

“Stiles-”

“What?”

“Can’t you just- I don’t know? Talk to him?” If it were that easy.

“And call him out on feelings he obviously doesn’t want to have? Feelings that make him uncomfortable? No thank you!”

“You’re exaggerating,” Lydia chided but she did it softly enough for Stiles not to get agitated further.

“Pizza,” was his answer to that, “the one with extra meat.”

“Stiles-”

“Pizza!”

Scott and Lydia exchanged glances Stiles pretended not to notice. When the pizza guy delivered his goods, Stiles dug in with enough gusto to make even Scott slightly uncomfortable. He didn’t care. This was his way of soothing the ache inside his chest and he might as well make use of that metabolism now that he had it. Being a newly turned wolf – fox, damn it – had to have some benefits. Who cared if a certain Alpha didn’t want a piece of this?

Certainly not Stiles. He harrumphed almost blowing pizza out of his mouth. Lydia scooted away from him with a raised brow signalling disgust.

Stiles shrugged, inhaling what was left on his plate. The term eating your feelings suddenly made a lot more sense.

He did not care about Derek not wanting to want him. Not at all.

The problem was just that he did. 

Very much so.

* * *

Apparently, one and a half weeks was all the solitude Stiles was allowed. He had trained with Deaton and had talked to the pack. Not to Derek, but to the others. Deaton had taught him quite a lot, actually and he had been eager to concentrate on anything but his unrequited feelings. Even Peter had chimed in every once in a while, with something he probably considered helpful advice but which was actually not that helpful considering Stiles didn’t know how to apply it. He gave the wolf props for trying, though.

After that, a furious looking Jackson dragged him out of his own house by the neck and threw him into the Porsche. Which Stiles still resented. Both Jackson and the Porsche. _Especially_ , the Porsche. He had a vendetta against this car. 

“Where’re we going?”

“Somewhere,” was Jackson’s ominous answer. Stiles detected anger but more prominently, Jackson was nervous. That didn’t help the matter. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, “if you wanted to kidnap me, wouldn’t waiting until dark be a better idea?”

“Shut up,” Jackson bit out while cutting a corner more harshly than necessary. Stiles didn’t chastise him for it, quickly realising how agitated Jackson was.

Jackson pressed out between his teeth “I’m doing you a favour”.

“What kind of favour includes you crashing your precious car with both us in it?” Okay, so, apparently, he couldn’t help himself. Jackson’s behaviour really worried him.

“If there’s a new big bad in town and you’re evacuating me, I’ll be really mad.”

“And who’re you gonna tattle to? Derek?” Jackson quipped back, “you would have to talk to him first for that to work.”

“Not fair,” Stiles said and reclined himself in his seat, arms crossed.

* * *

The car driving up to Derek’s house was Erica’s. No doubt about it. Derek only hoped, she didn’t want to drag him out shopping again. That had ended in a tantrum he’d rather not repeat.

And then, she had called Stiles to come with them, demanding he’d rescue her from Derek’s brooding. Why she has been surprised, Derek would never know. It wasn’t Derek’s fault that the sale’s assistant had talked behind Erica’s back in such a disrespectful manner that Derek had told her point blank to shut up. He rarely ever did things like that but after having been friends with Stiles for so long, he couldn’t help it. It was as if Stiles’ eagerness to stand up for other people had somehow rubbed off on him.

When Stiles had arrived, all bright smile and glittering amber eyes, Erica had punched Derek in the arm and had hissed at him to stop drooling. Meanwhile, Stiles had winked at him and had looped his arm into Erica’s to be dragged into another shop.

On the way home, with Erica dozing off and Stiles in the seat beside him, Stiles had told him, he was glad Derek had stood up for Erica. Derek’s stomach had not been fluttering with butterflies. That was not a thing that had happened.

He didn’t even _like_ butterflies.

“Heeeey Derek.” 

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

That tone, he knew all too well. That tone meant Erica wanted him to do something he wouldn’t like one bit. Not one itty little bit.

He should definitely run. Only, she had spotted him already. Could he dive out of the window? Was the glass cutting his skin worth it? Why hadn’t he moved somewhere where no one could find him?

“Guess what day is it?” Erica singsonged while effectively blocking the entrance. No use dashing out there if he didn’t want to run her over. Considering what she might have planned, the idea became more appealing by the second.

“It’s take-your-beta-to-dinner day.” 

Derek instantly relaxed a bit. That didn’t sound too awful. Sure, she would tease him about his feelings for the entire evening but it was meant light-heartedly. Presumably, Boyd was working long hours at the school today and couldn’t make it for dinner. Erica always felt lonely when that happened so she tended to hijack Derek’s time. No matter if he had something else to do or not. One night, he had been forced to stop in the middle of a shower to get dressed in a suit and take Erica out to dine two towns over. Granted, Boyd had been stuck in San Francisco that time, unable to make it because his flight got delayed.

And okay, it had been Derek’s fault Boyd had been there in the first place. Another pack had needed help and Derek, recovering from a heavy dose of wolfsbane and a nasty run-in with an omega had been unavailable. So, he had sent Boyd, thus inviting disaster into his home which was distinctly Erica-shaped.

This looked a lot familiar to that situation, but Derek figured, it could have been a lot worse.

“Where?” he asked, key turning in the ignition of the Camaro.

“Oh there’s this new spot a few miles away.” It was a strange sort of wording, Derek felt, but he couldn’t detect a lie in her heartbeat so he didn’t think on it further. Which was as big a mistake as it could get, in retrospect. Because the “spot” Erica directed him to was a hunting cabin in the middle of the preserve. How Derek had not clued in before the door fell close behind him with a distinct click of a key turning, was not something he wanted to discuss. Much less since it looked like Erica had trapped him in there with Stiles. A very jumpy Stiles. Which was never a good thing.

Apparently, Jackson had pulled the very same stunt on Stiles to get them into a small one-room cabin.

He had noticed, Stiles had been around him less the last week. And although he disliked it very much, he hadn’t said anything. Stiles had his reasons, no doubt and if he needed Derek to stay away, Derek would oblige. He didn’t want to make Stiles uncomfortable. Especially now that Stiles probably knew how gone for him Derek was. Derek could vividly imagine how Stiles was rehearsing a speech in his head. Something along the lines of “hey buddy, I really wanna bone you too but that’s about it.” Derek knew, Stiles didn’t like him as more than a friend, despite his obvious attraction to him.

“What are you doing here?” Apparently, he had been standing in the doorway for quite some time because Stiles looked at him with a raised brow that betrayed his heart beating so frantically it told Derek, he was nervous.

“Erica,” he said, knowing that was all the information Stiles needed to piece it together.

“Jackson,” Stiles offered with a shrug. There was still anger in his scent but the anxiety drowned it out almost entirely.

“Why?” Derek hoped the one word encompassed everything he wanted to ask without him actually having to voice it. As usual, though, Stiles seemed to understand him easily.

“I was told, we needed to have a talk or so help me God, Stilinski, I will crash the jeep against the nearest wall.” Derek didn’t know what to make of that. Sure, Stiles had been noticeably absent more than once the last two weeks but Derek hadn’t wanted to think about it too much. It wasn’t his business and he didn’t want Stiles to discover just how much Derek cared. Better to remain distant and let Stiles work out whatever needed working out on his own. Only that it hadn’t been worked out apparently. If Erica and Jackson agreed on something, that gave cause for great concern. 

“Talk about what?” Derek said, wanting Stiles to take the initiative. He wasn’t about to push for information when Stiles wasn’t ready to offer it voluntarily. Better let him make the call.

Stiles shrugged.

“You’ve been-” Derek started when the silence stretched for too long, “I mean is something wrong?” Close call. He had almost made it sound like an accusation “you haven’t been around lately,” was what he had been about to say a split second before common sense had thankfully kicked in.

“No,” Stiles immediately said before wincing. He too had evidently heard the little blip of his heart. Derek felt his face morph into a scowl. After all this time, Stiles still lied to him when he wasn’t well. And Derek had no idea why.

Stiles should know that the pack would be there for him, that there was nothing he couldn’t talk about. But then again, maybe it was a more private issue? Derek could understand why Stiles would want to deal with that on his own. Especially, since Derek was the poster-child for burying his feelings along with his social skills six feet under. At least, he did that when Stiles let him. Which wasn’t all that often, now that Derek thought about it. Usually, Stiles instantly sensed when Derek was upset and proceeded to annoy him until Derek spilled the beans. 

“You can tell me,” Derek said, trying to sound less uncomfortable and sincerer. Seeing as his uncomfortable voice and his I-hate-you-get-off-of-my-lawn voice were almost identical. To everyone that wasn’t Stiles anyway. Derek still didn’t know when Stiles had figured him out. He would like to, though, just to know where he went wrong.

When Stiles didn’t make any attempt at speaking, Derek decided to try to coax him a bit more. 

“We have to talk about it at some time. Unless you want out of the pack, you’ll have to let me resolve this.”

Stiles looked like he wanted to protest more but then, his demeanour changed. 

“Fine,” Stiles snapped, “fine”. He paused, fumbled around with his sweater. Derek almost drowned in the wave of nerves that drafted his way.

“There were a few things that didn’t make sense at first. I talked to Scott about it- don’t give me that look,” because Derek had raised a brow. Asking Scott? Really? He liked Scott as much as the next guy but asking him on something that didn’t make sense to Stiles, who had a brain larger than Texas, was probably not the most fool proof way to solve the problem.

“Anyway. I asked Scott and he explained something to me but then I realised what that meant and I needed a few days to get over that before I could-” the pause was the first one in his tirade, also the first sign, Stiles was weighing his words carefully right now. Derek didn’t like it.

“Before I could come over again,” Stiles settled on, not looking at Derek but at a point a bit over his shoulder. Now, while everything Stiles had said had technically not been a lie, Derek couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t the whole truth either.

“Why?” he asked again, unsure of where this was going. What had the pack done to scare Stiles away? This needed changing. Derek wanted Stiles to be around. Even if it was just as his friend and packmate.

“I just needed some time man,” Stiles laughed but it didn’t sound genuine.

“You’re not lying,” Derek said, “but there’s something…” He couldn’t help the scowl taking permanent residence on his face.

“I just needed to sort through it, okay? There’s nothing wrong with that,” Stiles said, voice climbing to high levels which meant he was getting agitated.

“But why? What is there to sort through?” Derek still didn’t understand and it irked him. Stiles could figure him out so easily and he had no clue what was wrong. Without him noticing, his volume had increased which was probably the reason why Stiles reacted the way he did. Only later did Derek realise, Stiles had been boiling just under the exploding point for a while and his tone had caused him to tip over.

“I _like_ you!” Stiles bellowed suddenly, cheeks flushing if with anger or embarrassment Derek couldn’t tell. “I like you! That is what I have to sort through! Because you knew- all this time you knew, and you decided to not want to want me! So, forgive me for not speeding to your house to hear the thanks-but-no-thanks speech again!” 

Very eloquently, Derek expressed his exact opinion on the matter.

“What?” 

“Come on, dude,” Stiles had this smirk going which Derek translated as self-deprecating and annoyed. “Don’t act like you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

“But I don’t…” he let his sentence trail off, too busy to make sense of what Stiles had said to pay proper attention.

“You _know_ ,” Stiles’ voice had gone low again in a way Derek knew meant he was about to get the truth laid out for him in a second. And that it was something that Stiles considered painful.

“I never thought I would have a chance with you. And then I get these new awesome senses and the first thing I pick up on is how your heart beats when you look at me. How your scent turns honey when I’m in the room.” Derek’s entire body froze solid at the words. Of all the possible scenarios, this was never one he had considered to become reality. So, Stiles had figured it out.

Dread pooled in his stomach. No wonder Stiles had needed time away. Because he hadn’t wanted to be around Derek any longer now that he know Derek was head over heels for him. He braced himself for the rejection that was just around the corner, crossed his arms protectively over his chest.

“And I talked to Scott and he explained it to me and guess what I realised when it finally clicked in my head?” the unattractive, humourless chuckle Derek loathed was back before Stiles went on like he just had to get it off his chest in one rush and not let Derek respond or even sort through this on his own. 

“Because if I can smell it on you, you sure as hell can smell it on me! And that means, you knew, I was attracted to you! And you _knew_ you were attracted to me! But you decided not to say anything, not to act on it because you don’t _want_ to be with me! So sorry that I had to take a minute for myself there and come to turns with the fact that the person I like for some reason _does_ like me back but that he just doesn’t _want_ to like me! Because, apparently, I’m such a pain in the ass that you don’t even want to give this a try!”

_Now wait a minute._

This was absurd.

And wrong.

All of it.

They were not having the same conversation. Holy hell, they weren’t even on the same planet. Stiles had gotten it all wrong. Brilliant, smart Stiles had gotten it _wrong_. 

“Stiles-” Derek was about to tell him, to ease his mind and make both of them a lot happier because Stiles had just said like. He had said Derek _liked_ him back. Not want. Not attracted to. But _like_. And that made all the difference. Only it seemed, Stiles didn’t even want to let him correct him because he powered on like Derek hadn’t said anything.

“I get that I’m not- that you can do better, okay? And I’m sorry that I am,” he gestured at himself like that explained it, “like this. But I never thought-” he took a big gulp of air before continuing. Derek noticed how his voice trembled, “this is worse than not being wanted by anyone. It’s worse because you _do_ want me but because I’m not good enough- because I’m so much less than you that you don’t want to want me.”

Apart from the horrendously structured sentence, Derek couldn’t help but wince at that. He knew what Stiles was talking about. He had been there for his teen years and had watched him get overlooked at every opportunity, had perpetuated in it too. God, if he could take back all the mean things he had said to Stiles, he would in a heartbeat. But he couldn’t. The only thing he could do, was make this right.

“You’re wrong,” he said, trying and failing to catch Stiles’ eye. “You’re so wrong.”

“Oh, am I?” Stiles snapped, “then why Derek? Why didn’t you say anything? Why let me pine after you and watch me make an idiot of myself when all you had to do was say something?”

The pain in Stiles’ voice was the reason Derek laid it all out on the table. “I thought it was just physical for you.”

“What?” The sheer outrage on Stiles’ face would have been hilarious if Derek couldn’t still smell the underlaying sadness in his scent.

“I thought you wanted-” he had to redirect, too embarrassed to actually say the words out loud after Stiles’ speech, “I thought you were attracted to me.”

“Because I am!”

“No! Stiles- that’s not-” after a deep breath, he continued, “I thought that was all you wanted.”

“Oh.” Finally, Derek saw realisation trickle into Stiles’ heavily armoured heart. 

“I couldn’t- after Kate and Jennifer- I can’t do that,” he paused, unsure if he should actually say it but the way Stiles still looked unbelieving, he just had to, “I don’t want that with you.”

“Then what- Derek you have to be honest with me here. I can’t- you don’t know what it did to me…”

“I’m beginning to see that,” Derek said, guilt swapping over him. He had never seen it from this angle and now that he had, his stomach turned uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” he caught Stiles’ eye, finally, “but what you thought isn’t true. Stiles, I- I want you, okay? I don’t have any problem wanting you.” At least not since he knew Stiles _liked_ him. He was still rather giddy about that. 

“You’re sure, you don’t?” At first Derek didn’t understand why Stiles was saying it before he added, “last chance to back out.”

“Don’t want to back out,” Derek promised, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Derek-”

“Stiles, I’m really sorry, okay? I didn’t know you felt like that. If I had, I would have- I would have told you.”

“You would?” 

“Yes,” Derek hoped Stiles could pick up on the determination in his voice, hoped he believed him, “Stiles you’re- you’re good for me, okay? I trust you. And that’s- I never thought, I’d have that again.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I do,” Derek nodded his head along with it, “because you thought, you weren’t good enough for me to want you. And you’re so wrong, you have no idea.” 

“But-”

“I was afraid I wasn’t that for you. That you didn’t want me like that and I couldn’t do casual- not with you- so I just pretended I hadn’t noticed…”

“You’re an idiot.” Derek found, he agreed. He should have known, should have put it together. It was just hard to believe that someone as Stiles would like someone like Derek. It only occurred to him now that they had had the exact same thought. A chuckle erupted from his throat.

“What?” Stiles asked, “what’s so funny?”

“We’re _both_ idiots,” Derek pressed out between snorts.

“Why?” Stiles looked like he thought Derek had lost his marbles somewhere.

“ _You_ didn’t talk to _me_ because you thought _I_ didn’t like _you_. _I_ didn’t tell _you_ because I thought _you_ didn’t like _me_.” Perfect. Stiles was just perfect for him.

“Okay that’s- when you say it like that,” Stiles broke off, a smile starting to peek through. To Derek it was like the sun coming out, no matter how cheesy that sounded. Then, Stiles asked “but we’re on the same page, right? You’re not- you’re not saying this just because…” He sounded still so self-conscious, like there was a possibility for misunderstanding. Derek had to take that doubt and squash it good and proper. Thank God there was a way for him to do that now. It was the one good thing to have come out of this whole mess.

“Tell me, I’m lying,” Derek caught Stiles’ hand in his and placed it over his heart. “listen to my heart and tell me I’m lying.” Only when he was sure, Stiles was doing as he was told did he say what had been on his mind for so long.

“I want to be with you.”

Stiles’ own heart did a weird lurch that had Derek concerned for a second before he was being kissed so ferociously that his lip burst upon impact.

Didn’t matter, though. 

He was a wolf.

He would heal.

As long as Stiles kept his heart safe from burning, he would heal.

* * *

At first, Stiles couldn’t categorise it. He kept kissing Derek and thought, the prickling was just the breath of the Alpha ghosting over his skin. But then, the sensation intensified to an almost painful level. He realised then that it was separate from the thrumming of his own body. It came from outside. And it certainly wasn’t friendly. There was something violent, something dark in that thrum. He pulled away, waited until Derek fully looked at him.

“Do you feel that?” he whispered without knowing why. 

“Yes,” Derek breathed, eyes glowing red, “something’s here. I felt it pass the territory line.”

“It feels familiar but different. Like I’ve felt it before…” He couldn’t quite put it into words. That sense like he had encountered the feeling somewhere before but in an entirely different capacity.

“Magic,” Derek bit out, “it’s magic.” Suddenly it clicked in Stiles’ head. His spark. That was why it felt so familiar. Like a part of him had responded, had tuned into whatever had passed them.

But his spark was white magic and this, this was dark. That much, he could tell. It gave him the creeps.

“We have to go,” Derek pulled him towards to the door, grip iron tight.

“Wait-”

“What’s wrong?” Stiles had quite a hard time not blurting out how much he loved Derek for instantly knowing something was wrong. They weren’t there yet, to have that conversation. But his heart did flutter funnily.

“It’s- we need to make sure whatever this is, is gone before we step out. The cabin is protected. Out there, we’re on our own.”

Derek stared at the door then looked at Stiles. A sharp nod and he grabbed his phone, dialling a number, Stiles knew was Scott’s.

“Something magical crossed the line,” Derek bit into the phone the second Scott picked up, “I don’t know what it is. We can’t leave until it’s further away.”

It seemed Derek assumed Scott already knew who was “we” and the “where” Derek was talking about. Probably a good call since Jackson or Erica would have told the pack by now of their little stunt. Which, now that Stiles thought about it, they would have to send a fruit basket, wouldn’t they? He tuned back into the conversation happening, not all too worried about the situation. He was with the Alpha, there was nowhere safer in his opinion.

“They’ll take care of it. Isaac’s out on a run so he’ll check the lines. Boyd’s joining in ten.”

Derek sounded on edge but his eyes were soft when they turned to Stiles.

“You think, you can pinpoint it?” Everything in Derek’s manner told Stiles it was okay if he failed. But he had no intention of doing so. Concentrating as hard as he could, he focussed on scanning the perimeter with his mind, visualising the woods and the trees as best as he could. It took some time but then, all of a sudden, like a snap, he was back in the cabin, with Derek hovering over him. Without realising when it had happened, he had collapsed.

“Protective spell,” Stiles said upon sitting up, “the second I got it, it hurled me back here. Felt like a kick in the head…” His head hurt for a second but then it was gone.

“Could you see it?” Derek asked, sounding simultaneously eager and anxious.

“Not really,” Stiles said, “but I got a pretty clear picture anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t see the face but when it kicked me out- Derek that feeling- that kind of power- to hurt me when I’m not even physically present…” he heaved a sigh, they just couldn’t catch a break, could they?

“It’s something dark, something really bad…” Without meaning to, he leaned in, searching for the green he knew was underneath the red in Derek’s eyes. Despite their earlier kiss, Stiles knew, he wasn’t talking to Derek his maybe-boyfriend.

He was addressing Derek Hale, Alpha.

“And it’s here to stay…”


	2. FEROX: wild, warlike & cruel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand we're back! 
> 
> Sorry, I kept you all waiting for so long, feel free to yell at me in the comments. Otherwise, sit tight and enjoy the show.

> _She is a saint with the lips of a sinner._
> 
> _She is an angel with a devilish kiss._

“What do you want to do?” Derek asked, voice tight. His eyes flickered across the room, as if he needed to make sure, no danger lurked in a dark corner. Stiles knew, he felt it too still, the thrumming. 

“Stay here, wait it out,” Stiles gave his decisive answer. There was no other option, really. His spark wasn’t developed well enough that he could provide any protection against other magic users. Funny, he thought, how those things always came to bite you in the ass. He should have practised more, should have been on top of the game always. And now, now that he could have protected Derek from harm for the first time in probably ever, he had botched it by being overly concerned with his heart.

“Stop it,” Derek chided.

“Stop what?”

“Stop overthinking. I can smell it on you. You’re getting anxious and there is no reason to.”

“No reason?” Stiles chuckled dryly, “we’re stuck in the middle of the woods with no means to defend ourselves against some dark magic user. I see plenty of reasons for concern.”

“Not your fault,” Derek said gently, displaying much more softness than Stiles would have attributed him all those years ago. For a moment, he was overwhelmed with the changes Derek had made, the new man he had become. The one Stiles could fall in love with so easily. 

“Huh,” Derek’s lips ticked, “now you’re not anxious at all.” Stiles could feel the blush starting to spread and quickly averted his eyes from Derek’s far too amused gaze.

“When’ve you become like this?” Stiles bemoaned, more than a little embarrassed at being distracted so quickly and Derek calling him out on it, albeit in such a sweet manner, Stiles couldn’t be mad. Not really anyway. If he could have, Stiles wouldn’t have fallen for the Alpha in the first place.

“Like what?” 

“Suave.”

“I’m not.”

“Sure. That’s why you can suddenly read me so easily.”

Derek mumbled something unintelligible which prompted Stiles to step closer. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Derek was shy about something.

He asked Derek to repeat what he had said and watched the tips of his ears turn red, a match to Stiles’ own red cheeks, his heart fluttered in his chest. Derek instantly picked up on it, searching Stiles’ face before finding something there that made him speak up.

“I worked on it.”

“You worked on what?”

“On reading you.”

“Why?” He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to. Not with all the crazy things, his brain kept spewing at him.

“Because I didn’t understand you when we first met and that made me nervous.” Stiles could see that. For Derek, who always relied on his senses, not being able to read when Stiles was lying just by listening to his heart beat must have been hard. He winced when he remembered how rude he had been to the Alpha but then quickly remembered that Derek had given back just as badly. Maybe that was why Derek had become the one person he truly loved to bicker with.

“You were this walking contradiction. I could read Scott like a book but you… you were different. And I didn’t know what to make of you. You were saving me one minute, then telling Scott to just let me die the next.” 

“So?”

“So I started to pay attention. I might not be able to tell when you’re lying by your heart beat but there are other tells.”

“Like?” Derek stepped impossibly close, eyes narrowed like he was feeling the predator role a little too much. Was it suddenly getting hot in here?

“Like your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

“They dart to the left when you lie.”

“I- I didn’t know that.”

“You wring your palms when you’re unsure. Your voice catches.”

“I’m a bad liar, is that what you’re saying?” Stiles joked, trying to level the playing field.

“Not at all,” Derek said with an answering smile, “that’s part of the problem. You’re exceptionally good at half truths.”

“But?”

“But they made me nervous, so I worked on reading what you weren’t saying with your words.”

“You’re such a sap,” Stiles was aware of how mad his grin must have looked. He just couldn’t believe this. Derek had found him worthy enough to learn how to read him. And he had liked what he had found so much, he had kissed Stiles. This was like a fucking win in the lottery, only better because it was Derek.

“You like sappy,” Derek said, smirking a little. 

“Psh, I don’t.”

Derek let his eyes drop to Stiles’ chest in a very deliberate manner before stating “lie”. Stiles felt the air prickle with tension, ready to explode. He took a step forward, almost like he was being pulled towards Derek again.

That was precisely when Derek’s phone rang. He didn’t put it on speaker since Stiles could hear him just fine now thanks to his new super-hearing.

“We’ve got it,” Scott’s voice was tight, the Alpha tinge palpable even around them despite Scott not being physically present.

“What?”

“The location. It moved through the preserve. Now it’s somewhere along the east lines, heading out of town again.” 

“How-”

“Lydia.”

Of course. She was getting quite good at tracking non-humans throughout the town. God knew how. 

“Deaton says, it should be safe for you.” 

“He’s sure?” 

“He’s Deaton!” Erica could be heard shouting from somewhere on Scott’s end. Followed by a growl that sounded suspiciously like Jackson agreeing. Derek shrugged like that was as good as it was going to get and hung up. Despite the all-clear, they still kept their sense alert until they hit the main road. The woods belonged to Derek but that didn’t mean nothing else could be in them.

They made it to the loft in a record-breaking 30 minutes, Derek hitting the gas much harder than probably necessary. Jackson was the first to crush Stiles in an embrace, muttering a very soft, almost inaudible apology for luring him into the woods. Stiles shrugged it off. There was no way Jackson could have known this was going to happen.

Even their luck usually wasn’t this bad.

* * *

The entire pack was on edge. Both Jackson and Erica experienced sudden outbursts of anger, which they should have had under control at this point. Derek was on high alert the entire time they waited for Deaton and or Chris to come through with an explanation. Peter had turned to unnecessarily cutting remarks, which everyone knew to be a coping mechanism.

The problem was, in Derek’s opinion, that the couldn’t put a name to it. They didn’t know for sure, whether it was a witch or a darach or a druid. The only thing they could decide on was how it _felt_. Which could be summed up in one word: _dangerous_. 

He was just glad Stiles was okay, that they had talked and that now there was nothing between them preventing them from working together. These last two weeks had been so anguishing without Stiles constantly glued to his side. It made Derek pause in his pacing, the realisation that Stiles truly liked him back.

“Dad’s calling,” Allison spoke up from the kitchen counter, where her legs dangled from the edge. To anyone else, she would have given off the appearance of being perfectly at ease. Only, she was in a room full of wolfs and a fox, all with enhanced senses and everyone could smell her anxiety in the air. Not that the others were any better off. Derek’s gaze had snapped to Stiles at least four times in the last hour because his heart had suddenly picked up the pace for no apparent reason.

“There’s no sign of it,” Chris’s metallic voice came through the phone. Lydia and Stiles exchanged worried glances.

“I can call some of my contacts but since this thing – whatever it is – hasn’t done anything yet, I doubt it’ll do any good.” Derek agreed. So, did Scott, apparently because he motioned for Allison to end the call.

“Sitting here like literal ducks is not going to change anything,” Jackson snarled. Derek knew, he was taking this badly but there was nothing he could do to help right now. As long as this thing didn’t harm anyone, they would have to tolerate its presence. Despite Stiles describing its aura as dangerous, the pack’s hands were tied.

Apart from that, Derek didn’t have any desire to find out what his aura looked like.

It probably screamed dangerous too. 

* * *

After realising that absolutely nothing could be done about that strange presence in the preserver, Stiles ha driven home. There had been some wistful glances towards Derek at his departure but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything drastic like sink into Derek’s arms to be devoured. It just didn’t sit right with him, considering the circumstances.

Needless to say, he also wasn’t in the mood for any explanations or squealing or aggressive puppy-piles. Isaac and Erica had been growing entirely too fond of those and often forgot how easily bones broke. It didn’t matter whether or not Stiles healed lightning quick now too. Broken bones still hurt and he wasn’t used to the healing yet. There was still a moment – whenever he heard that horrid cracking sound – when he pictured himself in a wheel chair for the next month.

His dad greeted him in the drive way, hurrying to the station with a sandwich in one hand and files in the other. He threw over his shoulder that Stiles needed to call him to talk brunch on Sunday. They had done that for the last two years after the Sheriff had realised how much time he spent at the precinct and how little at home. Since then, standing Sunday brunches were tradition and not even the world ending would come in-between the Stilinskis and their brunch.

This week, it was Stiles’ turn to pick the restaurant. Once they had even driven two towns over because they had particularly sought-after waffles. Stiles grinned to himself at the memory.

He walked into the house, fully prepared to pass out after dinner when he heard the closing of a window. Turning a corner carefully, he peeked into the living room.

And found Allison, Erica and Lydia already sitting there, feet crossed on his sofa, munching on snacks, presumably from his kitchen. The rush of anxiety left him as fast as it had entered his blood stream.

“What are you doing here?” If he had missed something at the meeting, surely Derek would have called him. Lydia and Erica rolled their eyes in unison which Stiles took as their reason for being here being obvious. Allison, meanwhile, had pity on him, probably because she was in a relationship with Scisaac, and patted the place beside her for him to sit.

“How was your talk with Derek?” she asked, although entirely too innocently. Stiles saw right through those pretty dimples.

“It went well,” he said, not willing to offer up anything unless for good cause. They should have known to bring bribes if they wanted to get the intel from him. Then again, Derek was far harder to crack so that’s why they probably chose Stiles.

“Well non-answer and lethal danger aside,” Erica leaned in closer than Stiles appreciated, a wolfish grin on playing on her lips, “you do know how you smell like, right?”

“Curly fries and milkshake?” he asked, waving said meal in front of Erica’s face to make his point. Lydia rolled her eyes. 

“Don’t be smart.”

“Why?” he grinned, “‘cause that’s your part?” He just couldn’t help himself. The opportunity for a Sherlock-reference didn’t present itself that often and he had to run with it when it did. 

“No. Because you’re deflecting.” Oh, he hadn’t even started yet. 

“I’m not deflecting,” he gave an outraged cry, slightly exaggerated, “if I were, I would have looped you into a conversation about the representation of female bodies in comic books, which, by the way- have you seen the Birds of Prey movie yet? What they did with Harley’s costume just shows-”

Erica cuffed him on the head, a gesture she had most certainly picked up from Derek, and earned herself a “Hey” from Stiles and a raised brow from Allison.

“Spill,” Erica urged practically vibrating in her seat.

“Spill what?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“Don’t be smart. Don’t play dumb. Make up your mind, woman.” Stiles poked Lydia in the side and watched the corners of her mouth lift. At least now she wasn’t as tightly strung anymore. Some of the tension had lifted from her shoulders.

“We talked,” he repeated, watching Erica gleam with undisguised satisfaction, “yeah, yeah, it was your idea to get us there. And we’re both very thankful.”

“I’ll tell Derek you said that the next time he pushes me too hard in training,” Erica promised with a grin.

“And?” Allison prompted, scooting forward in her chair. Stiles could hear her heart beat a little faster than usual and wondered how he could have missed how invested she was. Warmth flooded his stomach when he realised that his friends truly cared whether or not he got who he wanted.

“And there may or may not have been a conversation about feelings.”

“Feelings!” Erica screeched, almost deafening not only Stiles but also Lydia and Allison, both of which were human.

“What did he say?” Lydia came right down to business, eyes narrowed much like Derek’s.

“That he likes me?”

“And you said…”

“That I like him?”

“Oh my god,” Erica groaned, “you two are insufferable. I was hoping for juicy details and hot wood-cabin sexcapades.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Stiles smirked, “but we want to take it slow on that front.”

“Sensible,” Lydia mumbled to herself.

“And you are okay with that?” Allison asked, but she didn’t sound particularly concerned. She probably knew, either from Scott, Isaac or her own relationship with Stiles, how Stiles felt about physical intimacy.

“You know he’s crazy for you, right?” Erica said, without any innuendo.

“I know.” But his own heart traipsed at the words. Erica didn’t comment but she definitely noticed.

“It’s okay to go slow,” Allison threw in, “Isaac is still not comfortable with intimacy in that way…”

Her voice held nothing but understanding and Stiles could read the same in the expressions of both Lydia and Erica.

“I just-” he hesitated, unsure how to explain himself, “I don’t know how to switch it off…”

“Switch it off?”

“Like being self-conscious about- about how I look.”

“It won’t change one bit if I tell you that there is nothing you have to be self-conscious about because you look great, but I will nonetheless because you deserve to hear it over and over again until you believe it,” Lydia paused to make sure, he was looking at her, “you _are_ attractive.”

Erica shrugged, “you know I had a crush on you.”

“Scott just texted, saying he would have had sex with you if he weren’t in a relationship with Isaac and me. Which, I’m sure I should take offense to but I don’t because you and Scott always had that kind of relationship.” 

Okay no. Scott was like his brother. He did not want the image of a naked Scott on his bed in his mind, thank you.

“I get that,” he said and tried to convince himself on the way, “but- it’s Derek, okay? He’s like a Greek god…”

“Well,” Lydia smiled at him, “you always had good taste.” 

That made him smile in return. At least, she hadn’t lost her humour in all of this.

“I just- I need some time to- to get it in my head that he can look at me and want me back, you know? That he doesn’t see a 16-year-old stupid kid with a baseball bat.”

“I have it on good authority,” Erica stage whispered, “that he never saw you like that in the first place.”

“What?”

“Stiles, he’s three years older than you. Do you really think, he saw you as a kid?”

“Yes?!” 

“No.”

“What did he tell you?” Lydia was quick to jump on that little bit of information she had obviously known nothing about.

“Nothing,” Erica was not a particularly good liar, Stiles decided. Very shifty.

“Fiiiine,” she broke down after not having been questioned at all. Stiles was neither impressed nor surprised. He really needed to talk to Derek about his training the betas. If they just handed out information like this without any prompting, he should rethink his lessons on pack secrecy.

“He might have admitted that you always were attractive to him but that he didn’t act on it because you were too young back then and also behaving like an absolute idiot,” she smiled evilly, “under pressure, of course.”

“He said that?”

“He tried saying the opposite and traipsed right over his own heartbeat. Which I called him out on,” the grin she gave them could not have been eviller. Stiles barely suppressed a shiver at the sight. Erica was _scary_.

“Served him right, the filthy liar.”

“Erica,” Allison chastised but she, too, was smiling a bit too much like the cat in the canary scenario for Stiles to believe her to be sincere.

Lydia ignored them both, focussing on Stiles again. “So where do you guys go from here?”

He shrugged, “we didn’t talk that much after we got that liking each other thing out of the way.”

She took that at face value and – for once – didn’t press for details. Probably because she was mindful of Stiles’ issues. And Derek’s too, probably.

“You’re happy?” Allison asked then, a fully smile on her face and her eyes gleaming. She radiated glee and Stiles had never felt more loved by her than in that moment.

“Yes,” he gave the only answer he could.

Derek _liked_ him.

That was more than he would ever even dared to dream of.

* * *

Stiles’ phone rang not an hour later. He had barely picked up, a little curious why Scott would call him right now, when Scott yelled into the phone.

“I am hurt,” Stiles held the phone away from him to avoid his eardrums bursting “very hurt.”

“What? Why?” he had no clue what was going on. Had he missed something? 

“You told my girlfriend before you told _me_!” Oh, okay that was what this was about. He actually did feel bad now that he thought about it. 

“But you knew-” he tried and winced when Scott protested on the other end, “you were the one I called when I was having my mental break down about Derek being attracted to me.”

“That’s not the same! I expect to be called for everything.”

“Everything?” a smirk took hold of his lips, “so you want me to relay to you exactly how well Derek can kiss?”

“Yes!” Stiles smiled to himself. Waited. Waited a bit more. And then…

“Wait, no! No, God, I don’t need to know that!”

“You said everything,” he said in an apologetic manner. Sometimes, Scotty was too easy. 

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Pity.” And it was too. He wouldn’t have minded talking about that. Although, to be honest, he would prefer either Isaac, Jackson, Lydia or Erica for that. 

Scott shared the sentiment, it seemed because he instantly said “you have Erica for that. And Lydia!” And right he was. 

“But you were just complaining how I didn’t call you immediately,” Stiles paused, “and I didn’t call _them_ either. They just showed up at my house in a collaborative effort.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” he changed to a more genuine tone. It really hadn’t been his intention not to tell Scott but it had never seemed important enough in the midst of all this mayhem. 

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to get mad- I just- I felt like maybe you didn’t know how to tell me…” his voice got real quiet at the end and Stiles’ heart ached a little. 

“I wanted to tell you,” he said, “I just didn’t have the time with all the shit going on…”

“I get that,” Scott said on his end in just about the same tone, “but you need to tell me those things. Even if it’s two in the morning and you’re running from a manticore.”

“Don’t jinx it, dude. We haven’t had that one yet.”

“Sorry.” He could vividly imagine Scott holding up his hands in a placating gesture like he did, “but you know, right? You know that I’m happy for you?”

“Course I do.” That one wasn’t even a lie. He had known all along that Scott would approve.

“Because you’re good for him. And he’s good for you.”

“Thanks Scotty.” Now he felt a bit misty eyed. Stupid onions someone was cutting.

“Ah don’t mention it.” Stiles was about to say goodbye, when Scott threw in “seriously, though, don’t mention it to Derek.”

That made Stiles laugh and it felt so goddamn freeing.

“Why? Do you think he’ll hold it over you?”

“No. But if he knows, we know he’s a big softie, he’s going to be ruthless at training and I really don’t want that.” Stiles could imagine how Scott shivered at the memory of the last time Derek had felt the need to prove he could be a ruthless trainer. It had ended it several sore muscles before they had collectively decided to commit mutiny and steal away during a run. Two hours later, Derek had found them at Boyd’s launching in the pool. He had been furious and Stiles had to. be coerced into playing mediator. 

“Fair,” Stiles conceded, smirking to himself. Derek could be an asshole like that, couldn’t he?

That’s probably why Stiles liked him so much.

* * *

Of course, because this was Beacon Hills, shit hit the fan the very next morning. That thing in the woods, whatever it was, really hadn’t been idle. Stiles barely even put any energy into getting worked up. It was to no use anyway. Beacon Hills was a beacon for supernatural nonsenses and they were just going to have to live with it.

He had been about to pour his second bowl of cereal. Another plus point of his transition, he didn’t need to watch what he ate, much to the Sheriff’s frustration. His dad had come down the stairs, looking not rested at all and in such an agitated state, Stiles instantly became alert. He fell down on the kitchen table, rubbing his eyes.

“There was a murder, last night.” Stiles didn’t even get a “good morning”, probably because it clearly wasn’t one.

“Did you get them?”

“Wasn’t human.”

“What happened?” he pulled out a chair, sat down beside his dad and filled up his coffee cup. Then, and because his father looked so much worse than he had last night, he pushed the plate with the cookies Derek had baked last Sunday, towards his dad without a word. Everyone deserved a treat on days like this.

“Call came in. Parrish was on it. He said, the second he stepped inside, something was off. He couldn’t put his finger on it first but then…”

“Then?” he urged gently, not wanting to push but yet unable to sit still with the dread filling his stomach. 

“Then the smell hit him.”

“The smell?”

“He said it smelled foul, rotten, like sulphur. But that wasn’t what stood out to him.”

“What did?”

“Magic,” the Sheriff gave a sigh, “dark magic.”

In an instant, Stiles knew what that meant. Of course, the intruder had to be violent too. They couldn’t have it easy and it just being a friendly witch passing through. Then again, Stiles had suspected… But it didn’t matter now.

“What- what did it do?”

A look of disgust passed over his dad’s face, followed by one of sorrow.

“There was nothing left,” he whispered, “nothing of the guy that should have stayed home that day.”

“What do you mean, nothing left? How can- how do you know it’s a murder if there’s no body?”

“I didn’t say there was no body…” The implication of those words hit Stiles right in the stomach. He fought to keep down his cereal but was quickly losing the battle. They had seen damage in the last few years but his father’s expression told him that this was something else entirely.

“There were pieces of- of skin- hanging from the walls- the ribcage was open and the heart was missing- the blood- there was so much blood…”

“It cut out the heart?”

“It didn’t cut-” he paused, stared at the ceiling like it held all the answers, before murmuring, “I think, it ripped it open.”

“Claw marks?” Stiles asked, beginning to get an inkling as to the creatures which could have done this, or rather which were able to do this. 

“Fingers.”

“Fingers?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles exhaled, breath coming out shaky.

“You can say that again.” It should have been funny but the delivery lacked everything that would have made it so. Almost like an afterthought, his dad added, “you need to tell Derek because there is nothing we can do to catch this thing but if there is something he can do- tell him to do it.”

“On it,” Stiles promised, hurrying up the stairs. This wasn’t even bad. This was _worse_.

Way worse than he could have imagined.

His first call went out to Derek.

His second, though, went to Chris.

And when that didn’t work, he called the only one he could.

 _Peter_.

* * *

Of course, Peter, in true Peter fashion did not like to make things easy. He demanded for Stiles to let Derek and Scott battle out their new strategy plan while Stiles was supposed to meet Peter at the clinic. At least, Stiles thought to himself while parking Roscoe, Peter hadn’t demanded a meeting in the woods.

It took approximately fourteen minutes and thirty seconds for Stiles to lose his calm. According to Scott, who he vented to later, that was a new record, even for him.

He slammed his hands down on the table, making the metal creak. He wished, Derek was here, or Scott or Isaac, someone sympathetic who could calm him, soothe that restless feeling in his chest.

“You need to focus,” Deaton reminded him for the umpteenth time. Easier said than done, Stiles thought but didn’t say. He wasn’t cut out for this. If he could focus, he would have done so by now. Because that was the point of this entire meeting. Peter, apparently, had deemed it necessary, in the face of this new, decidedly magic threat, to finally be useful and come clean about the knowledge he had about sparks and their magic. Which placed Stiles in the very uncomfortable position of cramming both Peter’s and Deaton’s combined knowledge into his head while trying his best to do a crash course in his magical abilities.

To say it wasn’t going well was an understatement.

“Why so agitated?” Peter asked from where he had his hands crossed in a faux-nonchalant pose and was looking at Stiles with a mixture of excitement and disappointment.

“Because I have to get it right!” This was the entire point of this. For him to develop his magic into something he could attack and protect with. And which he was now failing at so spectacularly, it was a wonder Deaton hadn’t walked out yet. He had been trying the same spell for the last five minutes, which should have caused a protective barrier to form around him. Like a shield almost. And as cool as that sounded, he couldn’t, for the life of him, manage. 

“And you will,” Deaton said, sounding placating in a way that made Stiles want to rip something apart, “these things take time, Stiles.”

“Or maybe, you just don’t have it in you.”

You could have heard a needle drop in the sudden silence coating the room. It hurt in his ears, the deafening nothing that eradicated all sound. Deaton stared at Peter with something akin to skepticism while Stiles felt fury burn inside him. He could not believe Peter, of all people, had just said that. To him. He had always believed, deep down, Peter liked him. Well. Evidently not.

“What?” he said with no infliction whatsoever. Peter raised a brow.

“I said, maybe you just don’t have it in you.” Peter still had the brow raised in challenge, like he wanted to egg Stiles on.

“Maybe that isn’t-” but Deaton didn’t have time to say what it wasn’t because Stiles stepped forward, anger cursing through him. If Peter wanted to underestimate him, fine. So be it. But he would not let him win this easily. He had powers now and he would show that arrogant, cocky bastard how wrong he was.

It was that thought that cursed through him while he felt the burning sensation on his arms climb higher. He hadn’t really noticed before, but now it was clear as day what it signalled. 

That was his magic.

Maybe the realisation was what unfurled the heat wave inside of him or it was simply being teased and underestimated and made fun of for so long. In any case, he threw his fist down on the metal table again, with so much pent-up anger and frustration that the burning in his arms manifested to a fireball in his hands. The second the fire hit the table, burning right through it.

The sound of hands clapping together ripped him out of it. The fog around him lifted and the burning simmered down. He stared at the table, not quite comprehending what had just happened.

“I don’t approve of your methods,” Deaton scolded. When Stiles turned to him, he had a deep scowl on his face. But the other half of his face was contorted in undeniable delight and it made for a funny expression. Meanwhile, Stiles still had immense trouble understanding what he should make of this.

The table had a gaping hole where the table used to be and he could see the edges of the metal where he had burned through it. For the first time, he understood that his powers could turn lethal quickly. He hadn’t realised until now, how dangerous his magic could be, the damage he could do. Maybe it should have scared him. But in reality, he saw a chance to pull his weight, to become someone even Derek could depend on to have his back in a fight. To be useful. That was all he had ever wanted to be.

 _Useful_. The word tasted like cinnamon on his tongue. Sweet and a little sharp. 

“But they work,” Peter said with a smirk so evident in his voice, Stiles didn’t even need to turn to look. 

“You did that on purpose,” he accused, not needing to question it. He couldn’t believe, he had fallen for that.

“Seemed like all you needed was a push, little spark- motivation, if you please…” he grinned like nobody’s business and sauntered out of the room. Deaton looked, if Stiles had ever seen it, somewhere between relieved and exhausted.

“Why don’t you try it again?” he led Stiles back to the table, casting glances at the door as if he prayed for Peter to never return.

Stiles felt, he shared the sentiment.

* * *

Those new senses had some undeniable advantages, Stiles found when he smelled Isaac before the knock on his window came. Sure, he could have used the front door but everyone even remotely related to Derek would have inherited his favourite way to enter a house: via window. Stiles’ window in particular. 

“Do you have tea?” was the very first sentence directed at Stiles. He wondered briefly when they had become like this. That Isaac didn’t need to call before dropping by or even say hello when climbing into Stiles’ bedroom or the fact that Stiles had the special brand tea Isaac loved stacked in the kitchen. It felt rather surreal, almost too good to be true. 

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked once they both had a cup of tea in hand and a bowl of snacks sitting between them on the bed. Isaac looked more shifty than usual and his curls dropped unhappily. A sad cherub, Stiles couldn’t help but think. 

“It’s the magic, I think,” Isaac said, eyes fixated at a point above Stiles’ ear, “I felt antsy the whole day and Derek-” 

“What about Derek?”

“He didn’t particularly help.” Oh, Stiles could imagine. Derek tended to be really on edge whenever a new threat was in town.

“Want me to talk to him?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Can I just-” he forced the exhale like that next bit was hard for him to say, “can I just stay here?”

“Of course.” Stiles pulled back his covers to let Isaac scoot under them before turning down the light. 

“Why here?” he asked into the darkness after a few minutes where Isaac couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position. 

“I think- I think your magic- it’s like a counterpart.”

“A what?”

“It cancels out the thrumming. Like a positive thrumming. I feel less antsy- my skin’s not crawling anymore.”

Stiles had no answer other than “oh”. He hadn’t been aware that his magic could do that but he was glad it did. He hated seeing Isaac upset. That kid had been through enough. 

“You and Derek make a good pair,” Isaac mumbled. Stiles highly suspected, he was on the verge of passing out. At least that’s what the slurring of the words told him. 

“Yeah?” he couldn’t help but ask. It didn’t hurt hearing it from so many different people. Reassurance. He had always been a sucker for that. 

“Yeah,” Isaac nodded against his side, pulling him in close. He was out in under a minute, cuddling Stiles like an overgrown teddy bear. 

* * *

The ringing of his phone woke Stiles up. Ever since the Nogitsune, he had been a light sleeper and the werefox senses didn’t particularly help the matter. Not when he could hear the truck down the end of the road like it was in his bedroom.

One look at the display told him, it was well past one in the morning and that Derek was evidently still up. Otherwise, the caller ID would have really weirded him out.

“What’s going on?” he asked after reassuring himself that Isaac was still fast asleep.

Derek didn’t seem to care for small-talk, cutting to the chase instead.

“How did it go?”

“How did what go?” Stiles needed a moment to regain his bearings. 

“With Peter? He said, you called him.” Ah. Derek had a funny way of bringing up those things in the middle of the night. Stiles knew it was because he shoved them down the entire day but when night time came, he couldn’t push down any longer and his doubts and fears came knocking. Maybe that was the reason, Stiles willingly answered without the usual sarcasm. Derek didn’t do these late-night calls to be a dick. 

“Oh that. Yeah, that was- I don’t know- I’m somewhere between wanting to kill him and sending him a fruit basket.”

“Normal then.”

“Pretty much,” Stiles played with the hem of his blanket before deciding to ask “did you know?”

“Know?”

“How much he knew? How much he didn’t tell us?”

“No,” but Derek hesitated again and Stiles could almost hear the wheels turning, “but I figured he knew something we didn’t. He just likes-”

“To be dramatic?”

“That too but I think he mostly likes to keep his knowledge to himself unless it’s really necessary he get out with it.”

“Maybe…” Stiles wasn’t all too convinced Peter didn’t just like being all mysterious. Their conversation stilled for a moment. Stiles was content letting Derek breathe for a minute because there was evidently something else on his mind that needed addressing.

“Is Isaac…” Derek finally built up the nerve to begin but left the question unasked. Lucky for him, Stiles knew what he needed to hear anyway.

“He’s fine,” he said, practically hearing Derek’s relieved exhale through the phone. 

“I didn’t know he felt it so strongly. I would have-” but he stopped before he could finish the sentence. In reality, there was not a thing Derek could have done and it irked him. Stiles understood all too well. It was just like his standing at the side-lines while his friends risked their lives to fight the new evil in town.

“You can come over,” he offered and heard Derek exhale.

“If he wanted me there, he would have dragged me with him.” The unspoken: or would have told me where he was going, hung in the air.

“Aw don’t be grumpy, Sourwolf,” Stiles tried for a lighter mood. He could have sworn, he heard Derek smile. Which was a strange thing to hear but still.

“I just-” a heavy pause. Stiles waited him out, “I just wish, he would tell me…”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to burden you with it?” Stiles suggested, “because you can get a bit- protective.”

“I’m the Alpha.” Inevitable. It always came to this. And because Derek said it so earnestly, with such genuine conviction, Stiles couldn’t stop the snort from making it past his lips.

“You really need to stop saying that, Der,” he chuckled. 

“But I am.”

“Yeah and it makes you sound like a major douchebag.”

Derek spluttered, “I’m not a douchebag!”

“I didn’t say you were, it just makes you sound like one.”

“What do you suppose I do then? Ignore my Alpha duties and launch on the couch until I become a couch potato like you?” 

“Ouch, you wound me, Derbear.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? It’s cute.”

“I’m not a bear.”

“Ah so that’s the issue…”

“Yeah, Stiles,” he breathed out, aiming for exhausted but it came out rather fond, in Stiles’ opinion, “that’s the issue.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll always be my Sourwolf,” Stiles said without thinking and instantly blanched once he realised what had come out of his mouth.

But Derek didn’t seem fazed at all. He merely asked a very soft “yeah?” and sent Stiles’ heart into a frenzy.

“Yeah,” Stiles confirmed, biting his lip so hard it hurt as to not spit out something even more embarrassing like love declarations.

“Maybe I should think of a pet name for you then,” Derek said down the line and Stiles promptly lost his cool. Because that tone? That was new. Derek had never sounded quite this suggestive. Or growly.

“Pet name?” Stiles squeaked, desperately trying for nonchalant and failing. Derek chuckled, probably aware how Stiles was freaking out over here. That bastard.

“You have so many for me,” Derek rasped, “would only be fair if I had one for you.”

“Sure.” Deep breaths, come on. In and out. It was just Derek. Nothing to see here.

“Any chrm,” he cleared his throat, “any ideas?” 

Derek chuckled again, a deep, raspy sound that made Stiles shiver with want.

“Hm,” he said, sounding almost wistful, “boyfriend would be a good start, don’t you think.” Stiles all but exploded with glee upon hearing Derek acknowledge the situation.

“Yeah, I mean- sure, if you- if that’s something you want.” Goddamn it, Stilinski. Find your cool.

But he hadn’t until now and there was a slim chance he ever would. Especially, if Derek continued with the voice.

“You know, I do,” Derek said and it sounded softer, less flirty than before, “Stiles, you know…”

He had no answer for that but hoped Derek would understand either way. He had always been good at that.

Hearing what Stiles wasn’t saying.

“I should- I should go to bed…” he hoped, Derek would know what that meant. It just was too much to swallow, too much to process. Hearing Derek say all those things should have filled him with joy but it didn’t as long as he couldn’t believe they were true. And there was still that sliver of doubt, the one that whispered into his ear that he didn’t deserve this, that there was no way, Derek liked him back. It wasn’t easily quenched, that voice.

Just before he could hang up, Derek said “could always call you little red, though.” The line beeped, signalling that Derek had ended the call and Stiles was left sitting on his bed with an answering beep in his head. It took him some time to put it together and when he did, he instantly re-dialled.

“Stiles?” Derek asked and sounded far too amused.

“Little Red?!” Stiles screeched, oblivious to Isaac – who had awoken sometime in between – staring at him.

“Fitting, don’t you think?” Oh, Derek was going to see just how _fitting_ Stiles thought it was. Maybe he would reconsider when Stiles showed him how un-little he was. That sounded horribly wrong in his head.

But Derek just continued talking. “I was always fond of that particular shirt, you know?”

Stiles gulped, “is that so?”

“Yeah,” Derek breathed, no doubt smiling to himself, “its tight.”

Stiles was about to reply, when he heard a gagging sound right next to him. He whipped around and came face to face with Isaac who looked positively ill. 

“Ugh, can you guys stop having phone sex while I’m here?” Well, that put a damper on it. Derek’s entire demeanour changed in an instant and he went from flirty to embarrassed.

Stiles didn’t fare any better.   
  


* * *

He wasn’t going to do it. He was _not_ going to be weird about this.

_Screw it._

With one quick glance at a snoring Peter on his couch, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the Camaro. He just needed to see Stiles, talk to him in person. What he had said last night had been a bit much and if he knew his human – werefox – at all, chances were, he was freaking.

The Camaro roared to life and the trees passed by in a blur. His mind whirled with Stiles and his scent and his new powers and the way he looked, the way he held himself now. Like he was surer of himself, less agitated. Funny really, how the transition had turned Stiles into something less fragile and more confident. Derek supposed it came with the power, the healing, the enhanced senses.

He just hoped, Stiles was adjusting well, that he was doing his duty as an Alpha as best as he could. Despite that, he really hated this new dynamic. Had always loathed the idea of Stiles having to submit to him. Derek just wasn’t cut out that way. Stiles on the other hand- Derek was sure, he had some of that spark in him. He would have no problem seeing Stiles as his equal.

Alpha mate, the voice of his mom rang in his ears.

That’s what they were called, people like Stiles who complemented the Alpha in ways unimaginable by normal people.

It scared Derek, how Stiles fit against him. Where he was impulsive, Stiles had a strategy. Where he was quiet, Stiles was loud. Muscle and brains. Physical and mental.

He could just pray, Stiles didn’t oppose. Maybe he didn’t want to be tied down to a wolf. He had always talked of leaving. And despite so much time having passed, and the chances Stiles had not taken to get away, Derek still feared the day might still come. He just hoped, if it did, Stiles would take him with him.

The Stilinski household came into view just when a curly-haired figure walked out of the house. Derek had half a mind to drag Isaac back in by the ears but then he noticed how Isaac looked well and truly rested for once, so Derek decided against it.

* * *

Stiles almost had a heart attack when he turned around and found Derek lingering in the doorway to the kitchen with a bag in his hand.

“What are _you_ doing here?”

Alright. That could have come out better.

“You didn’t hear me?” Derek put down the bag, walking towards him. Stiles shrugged. He might have enhanced senses but his brain was still the same.

“You know focussing was never my strong suit.” Derek left the explanation uncommented and moved closer.

“How are you?” he asked. 

“Me? Good, why?”

“Don’t know…” Stiles couldn’t shake the feeling that Derek did know but didn’t want to tell him. And he had a point. After last night’s talk, Stiles was a bit shaken. He just didn’t know how to express that either.

“I brought food,” Derek said to the wall. Stiles shuffled into his line of view and raised a brow. Why would Derek bring food to his house?

“I thought-” he scratched his scalp, eyes darting away, “I thought we could cook?” 

“Cook?”

Derek didn’t answer verbally but his head did a jerky motion Stiles interpreted as an affirmative.

“What- what did you want to cook?” he had no idea what was going on or what Derek expected. Why was this so weird?

“You said, you liked my- my pasta?” 

“Sure, I do.” Which was true. Derek’s pasta was a gift from the Gods.

“Okay.” Derek nodded, more to himself it seemed and unpacked his bag. 

“Do I- what do you want me to do?” Stiles was so out of his element, it wasn’t even funny. He could cook, sure, but it didn’t reach Derek’s level and he didn’t want to mess this up.

“Wait a minute-” something occurred to him when he recognised the tension in Derek’s frame, “is this- this is supposed to be a date…” the realisation floored him more than he would have thought. He had no idea Derek even did dates. Let alone with Stiles. But it was obvious now. The nervousness, the tension, the _weirdness_. Stiles had been so concerned that something was wrong that he hadn’t put two and two together. Sure, they had had dinner multiple times together. They had gone out and stayed in and had cooked together before. But never as a date. Never under these circumstances.

And that was why it was weird.

“If you don’t want-”

“Oh no!” Stiles waved around his hands, almost knocking Derek in the face with it, “no, Mister! You signed up for this, there’s no going back now!” At least, it made Derek chuckle. Some of his brick-wall aesthetic left him instantly. He looked much more at ease.

“Chop these,” Derek said, shoving tomatoes at Stiles with enough force to make him stumble. Before Stiles could even flail, Derek pulled him upright, cheeks flushed.

“I really thought, that was going to get better after the bite,” he said sounding a bit grumpy.

“Aww, but that would mean you wouldn’t have an excuse to pull me up anymore…” Stiles teased just to see that flush expand down Derek’s neck. Derek mumbled something unintelligible, which was a feat considering Stiles’ new and improved hearing, and turned towards the stove.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Stiles started nonchalantly while salting the pasta water.”

Derek made a “hm” sound, apparently distracted by pouring vodka into the pan containing the roasted onions.

“Why didn’t you tell me, you found me attractive back then?” The spatula slipped out of Derek’s hand and clattered to the floor with such a loud noise, the following silence was deafening. Derek bent over, picking it up so slowly, Stiles knew, he was buying time.

“How-” he cleared his throat of some imagined obstacle, “how do you know about that.”

Before Stiles answered, he allowed himself to be delighted that not only had Erica been right, Derek had also made no attempt to deny it.

“Erica might have spilled the beans,” he finally said, delighting in the way Derek turned even redder. He was tempted to see how red Derek could get, given the right- well – stimulus.

“I’ll rip her throat out.”

“I thought that was our thing,” Stiles mock pouted and watched Derek fight a smile.

“She shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not right.”

“Derek-”

“I wasn’t going to be her.”

“I understand that. And you weren’t, by the way. Half the time, I was out of my mind with fear because you had that murder look going.”

“You were never afraid of me.”

“No,” Stiles conceded with a smile, “but you liked to think I was.”

“I had to.”

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t have done anything…” Derek seemed to say it more for himself, to reassure himself, he had done this the right way. 

“I know,” Stiles repeated, “sure helped that I was a pain in your ass those first few months…”

“Did Erica tell you that?” Derek asked with the ghost of a smile, “or did you put that together by yourself?”

“By myself. Believe it or not but I have no illusions about how annoying I can be. It’s like my special power.”

“You’re only annoying if you want to be.”

“Der-”

“There’s something I need to tell you- about your- your spark thing…” Stiles reclined himself against the kitchen counter, waiting Derek out. He felt, nothing could shock him at this point. Not after his second change of being. Human, werefox, spark. What else was there?

“Peter said- he said, he smelled it on you back then,” Derek recapped. This was not new information though, so, Stiles failed to see the relevance. 

“So? Who knows why Peter does things?” Especially, after the stunt he had pulled with Stiles when he had been training. Which, okay, it had worked but Stiles was still a bit pissed off. He tended to hold grudges and Peter knew it.

Derek, unaware of Stiles’ inner monologue, continued “he wasn’t the only one…”

Stiles instantly snapped to alertness. “Come again?” he said.

“I smelled it too- that- that spark- but I didn’t know what it was- and I couldn’t- I wasn’t going to pursue it- I wasn’t ready to trust something who smelled that-”

“That what?”

“That good.” 

“I smelled good?” He couldn’t quite believe what was coming out of his own mouth. It simply sounded so absurd to him. 

“You have no idea.” Derek chuckled when he said it, like recalling the memory was somehow funny. Stiles couldn’t quite agree. He was too confused for that. 

“Like what?”

“Cinnamon. Rain,” then, after a pause, “the forest.”

“The forest?” 

“ _Home_ , Stiles. You smell like home. That’s- that’s what the forest means to me- what it stands for. That’s why I was drawn to you- even back then- and I couldn’t- I wasn’t going to trust that scent. Not after what had happened.” And now, this conversation had turned precisely where Stiles never wanted it to turn to.

“Derek-” his throat felt too tight, he couldn’t breathe. Because that sounded- it sounded a lot like that word with L he wasn’t about to say.

“But then you were loyal- and brave- and you refused to let me die. No matter what I did, you didn’t let me die. And suddenly, I couldn’t look away.”

“Look away?”

“From you- and when Deaton said- when he explained what you were I only had one thought-” there was the hint of a smile, an incredulous one, but it was there, “it fit.”

Seemingly reduced to one-word sentences, Stiles merely squeaked out a faint “fit?”

“Yes, _fit_. Because you were everything- everything I looked for in her- in them- everything you did, a part of me responded to- because you were- it’s like you’re designed for me.”

“Derek-” he needed to stop this and stop this now because Stiles was about to do something really stupid like faint into Derek’s arms or proclaim his undying love for the Alpha and he knew, Derek wasn’t ready to hear that yet. So he bit his tongue and let Derek continue.

“It scares the hell out of me…” That much, Stiles had been aware of from the start. It was precisely why he didn’t want to make a move when he wasn’t one-hundred percent convinced Derek would be on board. Because Derek, despite working hard on himself to get better, was traumatised and no one knew that better than Stiles.

And Chris probably but Stiles didn’t want to think of Chris right now.

* * *

They got through dinner without a hitch. Derek’s pasta was as fantastic as ever and Stiles was a little proud to have contributed to it. Afterwards, they were reclined on the couch in the living room, watching a movie, Stiles was sure neither of them cared about. His dad was not going to come home for another hour and over the course of the last thirty minutes, Derek had moved progressively closer to Stiles.

“It’s still the same, you know?” Derek mumbled into the crook of his neck. This felt a lot more intimated than Stiles was used to. He fought down the urge to expose his throat.

“What’s the same?”

“Your scent-” he inhaled deeply, “it’s the same, only with a layer of blood.”

If Stiles interpreted that hitch of breath correctly, then Derek didn’t particularly dislike the change. When he inhaled and smelled Derek’s roasting firewood scent, he could understand the feeling. Ever since he had become a fox, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Derek smelled to him how he wanted to burrow into his chest and stay there forever. Embarrassing as it was, he had even gone as far as stealing one of Derek’s Henleys to cuddle with at night. He was also fairly sure Derek had noticed and was silently teasing him for it.

“Stiles-” God, he sounded so good too, raspy and dark. It reminded him of the times where Derek had flashed his Alpha eyes to stare down a threat. That always left him half scared, half turned on. Which he was sure must have been confusing for Derek but hey, that’s how his brain worked.

Realising Derek hadn’t finished his question, he made a noncommittal “hm?” sound.

“I-” But it seemed, he really couldn’t put it into words. The mixture of misery and desire made Stiles turn towards him, noticing how close they were. He could get lost in Derek’s eyes if he kept staring into them. Was that green or brown or hazel again?

“You want something?” Okay. He had _no_ clue where that had come from. In fact, he even needed a minute to realise, it was him who had said it. Was that really his voice? Derek looked a bit confused as well but it quickly morphed into something shyer. Derek, seemingly reduce to nonverbal answers, nodded again, eyes wide.

Stiles understood either way, or hoped at the least not to get this one wrong. He let his hand rest on Derek’s shoulders and slowly moved closer. Derek’s eyes remained glued to his until they couldn’t any longer. Stiles could almost taste Derek on his lips even before they made contact, their breaths mingling in between their mouths. When Stiles’ lips found Derek’s, his fingers cramped in Derek’s shirt almost involuntarily.

He could have sworn, Derek made a sound then, something akin to an exhale. If he hadn’t been turned, he wouldn’t have noticed but Derek’s scent suddenly turned spicier when Stiles scooted forward, manoeuvring himself into Derek’s lap. They never stopped kissing, with Derek leaning into the couch and Stiles on top of him.

Derek’s hands played with the hem of his shirt before he pulled back a little to ask Stiles’ permission.

Silently but he did and it made all the difference.

Derek had touched him a million times before but this time, he seemed to take his time, treasure it. His hands were big against Stiles’ hips, felt strong and steady on him. Stiles let himself be pulled close until he grinded down on Derek in a jerky motion. Derek hissed, fingers spasming before his grip turned iron.

“Sorry,” Stiles breathed, a wave of guilt overwhelming him.

“No-” Derek ground out and opened his eyes. They flared red and Stiles had a minor heart attack at the fire burning in them. It clicked in his head somewhere, that Derek wasn’t mad, just turned on. Now that he thought about it, he heard Derek’s heart beat fast and his breath come short. He saw how his pupils were dilated and his fangs had popped out. He wondered briefly, why his hadn’t but then it occurred to him. They had, he just hadn’t noticed.

“Fox,” Derek breathed and it sounded like he was in awe.

“There are some advantages, I guess,” Stiles conceded, brushing Derek’s lips with his tongue. He had no idea how much experience Derek had with stuff like this but he certainly felt out of his depth. Only when he ground down again, feeling how hard Derek was in his sinfully tight jeans, did Derek make a noise Stiles would file away under scorching hot. Because Derek had whimpered right into his ear, a sound so broken and needy, it made Stiles’ head spin with the desire to get him naked. His hands wandered under Derek’s shirt, tracing over the muscles of his abdomen. He felt them quiver under his touch, wanted to see them ripple like they did when Derek did his workout in front of Stiles just to see him flush.

A sharp pang of something hit his nostrils then and he paused. The quivering of Derek’s abs continued when he touched them again. At first, Stiles pushed the shove aside but then, the sensations were becoming overwhelming.

He couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Although, it did take him quite some time to understand, to realise what his senses were trying to tell him. But then it clicked.

“No,” he scooted back, despite the need burning in him to keep touching Derek, to just keep going until they were consumed by each other.

“Why?” Derek sounded confused and unhappy but Stiles knew better. Derek had trained him. He knew how to read chemo-signals now. And Derek’s were all over the place.

“Because you’re not comfortable.”

“Stiles-”

“No. I can taste it on you. You’re- you don’t want this- not really…” it was hard to admit and even harder not to take it personal. But Stiles knew Derek’s story and he couldn’t do this. Not when Derek smelled half disgusted half turned on. Stiles would no settle for half. And he would not do anything with Derek until Derek was on board a hundred percent and not one inch less.

“I-” he broke off, justifying Stiles in his getting up.

“You’re not saying it,” Stiles said and managed not to feel any hurt about it, “so I’m saying it for you.”

“Stiles-”

“No,” He repeated, softly taking Derek’s hands in his, making him keep eye contact, “we’re not doing anything that will make you uncomfortable. I won’t do it.”

Derek’s entire being sagged at that. He crushed Stiles in an embrace that was way too tight. Stiles didn’t care. He even felt a smile creep up at the corners of his mouth. At least, he had done something right.

“Now come on, Sourwolf. There’s still the desert in the kitchen and a movie to watch.”

* * *

Stiles woke up to soaring heat scorching his back. He didn’t need to look to know, Derek had plastered himself against him. It was a nice sensation to wake up too.

“Morning,” Derek breathed into his ear, sounding far too sleep-rumpled to be fair.

“I need to do a grocery run today,” Stiles said while changing into his jeans and shirt. He didn’t have the confidence to do so in front of Derek but Derek heard him through the bathroom door just fine. Werewolf had their perks after all.

“I can come with you?” it was sweet how he made it sound like a question, probably because he didn’t want to overwhelm Stiles or make him uncomfortable. Which was funny, considering Stiles could do clingy like nobody’s business. He was just glad, Derek didn’t seem to have a problem with that.

“I’d like that,” he yelled through the door and instantly facepalmed. Werewolf, he reminded himself. Really now, he should have gotten used to this enhanced sense business years ago.

Especially now, that he experienced it first-hand. 

They ate breakfast in silence but not without exchanging soft little smile which Erica would have complained about being sickeningly sweet. Since there was no one to call them out, Stiles just decided to bask in it. He was allowed to have something good every once in a while, damn it. And if he wanted to stare at his boyfriend longingly, he was going to do so. 

Derek didn’t say a lot on the trip to the store either, but his hand brushed Stiles’ when he reached for the shopping cart and Derek blushed all the way down his deep-V neckline. Stiles was not bursting with pride at having accomplished that.

He was _not_.

Okay, he totally was but it was _Derek_ , okay? 

It happened when they strolled down the pre-made dough aisle. Stiles got a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he would later call gut instinct. He turned, not expecting much and instantly froze.

“Derek-” his claws buried deep into Derek’s arm, cutting through the leather of his jacket, “Derek- that’s- that’s them.”

“What?” Derek moved in front of him, shielding him despite not knowing what the danger was yet.

“That’s them-” he pointed at the foursome putting boxes of something he couldn’t determine into their cart, “the- the thrumming- I can feel them…” he only whispered the words, for fear of being overheard. His heart thrummed in his chest and he could hear Derek’s starting to pick up the pace too. 

“Like in the cabin?” 

“Yes- but it’s- I thought it was one- Derek- I thought it was just one…” He couldn’t even put into words how deeply the reality of four of them scared him.

“It’s a coven.”

“What?” It wasn’t that he didn’t know the word, it was just that he needed time to process this. And it felt like the world came crashing down on him with life-ending force.

“A coven,” Derek snarled through elongated fangs.

Meanwhile, Stiles mind was whirling. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t realised it was more than one. He should have known. Witches never travelled alone.

“Why are they buying eggs?” he asked when it clicked in his brain what they had been putting into their cart. Maybe it wasn’t the most relevant question to ask but Stiles needed something to take off his mind of his failure. He should have been better. 

“We need to leave,” Derek said, disregarding Stiles’ question and pulling him towards the exit instead.

“What’s with the hurry?” his brain hadn’t come online again, apparently and he stumbled after Derek.

“Stiles- if they spot us- we’re doomed-” it was hilarious to hear Derek say “doomed” with a straight face but perhaps that was due to Stiles’ mental breakdown incoming right now, “we have to leave, come on!”

He was pushed harshly into the Camaro. Derek hit the gas, speeding out of the parking lot.

“They didn’t know we were there, did they?” He got out once his nerves had settled again.

“No.”

“Okay.” At least, that made him relax a little. He trusted, Derek would have noticed, should they have spotted them. As far as they knew, the witches had no idea there was a pack in Beacon Hills. There was no reason why they should. Maybe they were passing through and had picked this spot per mere chance. Which, yeah, now that Stiles thought about it, was not very likely.

But he would die on this hill if it meant five more minutes of peace.

“Call Jackson.”

“Why?”

“Because he said, he was leaving to do the grocery run for pack night today.”

“And?” he still didn’t see the relevance. What had A to do with B in this situation? But Derek elaborated almost immediately, sparing Stiles from working it out on his own. 

“And where does he go when he does that?”

“Here.”

“Here,” Derek nodded, eyes glued to the road. Stiles noticed, he was still speeding and put a hand on Derek’s shoulder in an attempt to ease the tension there.

“It won’t do us any good if you crash your car,” he murmured softly. Ever since that hunter debacle, Derek got a little too protective of Stiles, even though, he had evolved into something much less fragile than a mere human. He supposed, it had something to with that whole boyfriend thing.

“Call Jackson,” Derek barked, still refusing to calm down despite the fact that nothing had happened.

Stiles scrambled for his phone. Another wave of nausea setting in. He dialled as fast as he could, stressed by hitting the correct speed dial number on the phone with his claws out. Jackson picked up after the second ring, sounding perpetually angry.

“What?” he snapped into the phone while Stiles heard rustling in the background. 

“Don’t go to the store today,” Stiles was quick to say, praying Jackson wasn’t there already.

Jackson seemed to pick up on something in Stiles’ voice because he skipped the usual preamble of angry snarking and simply asked “why?” in a more subdued tone.

“Because the witches are at the store and there are four of them.”

“A coven?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” A pause, some more rustling then something fell down heavily before Jackson exhaled, “are you okay?”

“I’m with Derek.” Somehow, that had become code for “yes”. He didn’t want to interpret too much into that but Derek was- he was safe. Stiles knew he was. Because Derek would always make sure that those he considered pack were out of danger as fast as he could. It was one of the reasons Stiles liked him so much. After all these years of being chased by enemies while being a fragile human, he appreciated someone else putting him first.

Even if he wished, Derek would take his own safety as seriously as he did the pack’s.

“How’d they look?” Jackson asked and Stiles knew, he was about to take notes. Actually, they should have done a group text as soon as they were in the car but somehow, he had been so busy freaking out that it had slipped his mind. Stiles rambled out a quick description, listing off attributes that could help recognise them.

“They had these weird tattoos on their cheeks-”

“Scars,” Derek barked out, still hitting the gas.

“Scars then.”

“What scars?” it sounded like Jackson was taking notes which was a good thing.

“I don’t know, like symbols or sigils,” Stiles paused, tried to recall what else he had seen, “one was blonde. Two had dark hair, one red head.”

“Height?”

“All similar. Petite, small frames.”

“Eyes?”

“The one facing me had kind of a strange yellowish colour. I couldn’t see the rest, they were too far away.”

“Anything else?”

“I can’t think of anything right now,” he said, picking his brain for something he might have missed. 

“I’ll get the others to the loft,” Jackson said. Before he hung up, he bit out, “get your asses here. I’m not in the mood to bury my Alpha and my second in command just because Derek’s driving under the speed limit again.”

The message was clear.

_Get here in one piece because I worry._

Well, Stiles had every intention to.

* * *

The pack meeting went as well as one could have expected. Which was not well at all. Even Chris was there, pacing up and down with an expression Stiles never wanted to see on his face again.  
Thunderous would have been a fitting description.

A phone rang somewhere in the loft and it was Scott who picked up. 

“It’s- it’s my mom,” he said and sounded ultimately confused. Stiles could smell the anxiety wafting off him. He could instantly identify the source. Scott thought, something had happened to Melissa. Stiles prayed, this was not the case.

“There was another one,” Melissa said on the phone, “they’re investigating right now.”

“Heart missing?” Melissa gave the affirmative and hung up again, going back to her job. But Stiles, and everyone else in the room, had heard the fear in her voice. They needed to do something to stop this madness. Instantly, Stiles felt bad. He should have done research instead of cooking with Derek. There were more pressing matters and all he had cared about was his love life. 

“Stop it,” Jackson chided, not even looking at him.

“Stop what?”

“You’re drowning yourself in guilt and there’s no reason.”

“But-”

“No.”

Stiles could have sworn, he saw Derek smile at Jackson’s no-nonsense tone. The surge of positive emotion ended when his father sent him the case file for the second murder.

Witches.

Seriously.

To quote hunter of the year and badass with a great ass Dean Winchester, Stiles _hated_ witches.

Blood followed them wherever they went. They had a penchant for carnage, always. There were complications when getting rid of them and Stiles had developed a rather – how did you say it? right – dislike of anything magic. Ironic as that was.

He felt like magic corrupted so easily and whenever they had to go up against magic users, it ended in chaos and mayhem.

* * *

Research followed. The pack, including Chris, Peter and Deaton as well as the Sheriff and Melissa pulled every book they could think of. It was Lydia who got it right first. She was bent over a thick, roman book, suddenly giving a shout. Stiles rushed to her side, eyes glued to the site.

“What is it?” he breathed, feeling like the thunderstorm raging over their heads was just about to break. 

“A ritual,” Lydia stared at him, eyes wide, “they’re doing a ritual. That’s what they need the hearts for.”

“What?” Jackson sounded disgusted in even that one word. But he, too, was listening adamantly to what Lydia had to say.

“It’s a roman ritual to gain strength- powers,” she said with a side glance at Stiles, “they need to consume a heart each for their magic to rise to the level of supreme.”

“Level of supreme?” Boyd asked from where he was slowly wandering towards them, the lines on his forehead deep enough that Stiles feared, they would become permanently engraved.

“Hierarchy,” Peter jumped in, “a coven has a hierarchy. There’s the high priestess and the- well, expandable muscle so to speak- but the supreme…” Stiles didn’t question how he knew or where from, he was simply glad Peter had something to contribute. 

“The supreme level would make all of them equal. It’s power beyond comprehension. The ability to bend people to their will, to control the elements, the weather, animals. All within nature.” Peter almost sounded wistful but with an undertone of something Stiles, at first, couldn’t categorise. Then it occurred to him that, if it wasn’t respect, it was fear. Peter didn’t like the idea of something so powerful on his turf. Stiles found, he agreed. 

“So we’re down to two hearts?” Erica spoke from where she was plastered against Boyd’s side. She tended to do that, Stiles had noticed, keep Boyd close whenever danger was approaching.

Probably because he was the one thing, she couldn’t bear to lose. 

“One.” Derek said. The rest of the pack turned to him.

“Your father just texted me,” he let the realisation sink in before continuing and Stiles had the bizarre thought, the penchant for dramatics ran in the Hale family like their good looks, “we’re down to one.”  
  


* * *

And then they were down to none. 

The pack was dead silent when the call came. Stiles felt like he was about to vomit. They had let four people get killed by power-hungry witches. They had not protected their land, their town, their territory. It seemed, Derek took it the worst. He had wolfed out when the call had come and hadn’t shifted back ever since. Peter’s claws were out and his eyes were glowing blue. Even Scott flashed his eyes once every five minutes. Like the Alpha in him had to assert dominance.

“Where does this ritual take place?” Boyd suddenly said. Stiles’ eyebrow went up. He hadn’t thought about that. And it seemed, neither had anyone else. 

“Where is it most likely?” Isaac asked, “where would they go for ultimate power?” It was that expression which stirred something in Stiles’ mind. Almost simultaneously, he, Allison and Scott spoke.

“Nemeton.”

“It still hosts power,” Peter conceded, nodding his head along, “it could be possible.”

“If they have all four hearts- do you think, they’re heading there?”

Stiles turned to Lydia, a feeling of urgency suddenly taking hold of him. “Does the book say anything about circumstances- setting?”

“Like?

“Like does it have to be a waning moon? Do they have to wait for daytime?”

“No,” Lydia said but she skipped through the pages again to make sure, “it’s- I think it has to be night time but that’s it.”

“It’s just after dawn.”

“Get the mistletoe!” Derek barked, already leaping from the staircase.

Stiles and Scott were hot on his heels while the others scrambled to get out too. Lydia and Allison each grabbed a jar of mistletoe, following them to the cars waiting in the parking lot. Peter jumped in with Derek and Stiles, claiming “I’m not getting lumped in with barely-adults. I want to have an open-casket funeral and not a smashed in face.”

They seemed to race each other to the edge of the preserve, cutting in front of too many cars on the road for it to be legal. They didn’t care. Once they reached their spot, they jumped out of the cars, running towards where they knew the nemeton was still growing.

Derek slowed almost ten minutes later, gesturing for the pack to follow his lead. The closer they got, the more pungent the smell became. It was just like Stiles’ father had said: foul. Stiles’ nose burned with the intensity of it. The thrumming picked up too, almost as a reminder that they were nearing the very heart of evil. Stiles caught a glimpse of Scott’s pale face, saw how Allison’s head jerked around every few seconds like she wasn’t sure whether or not someone was behind them. The smell seemed to blind Stiles’ nose, made him liable to mistakes. The others didn’t fare any better.

Erica had a confused expression on her face, grabbing Boyd’s hand which she didn’t let go of.

They heard voices chanting then. Female voices. In Latin, if Stiles wasn’t wrong. Lydia nodded, like she had just confirmed for herself that she had been right. They crept closer still until they could see flames that appeared sky high without burning the trees around them.

The women Stiles had seen in the store stood in a circle, holding hands, chanting and throwing their bodies around like they were possessed. Their voices had some ethereal quality to them, like their melody could take hold of the brain and never let go. Stiles fought the urge to cover his ears. Something about that was wrong. Derek motioned for the mistletoe to be distributed among them. Each member of the pack took a small jar apart from Lydia and Allison.

The latter ducked down behind a bush, already aiming her bow with the arrows dipped in the mistletoe. Stiles knew, she didn’t have a clear shot but she would shoot anyway, should it come to that.

To say they ambushed the witches would be an understatement.

Chaos ensued. 

The witches screamed and lashed out, cursing and chanting. The pack dove out of the way, some seeking shelter behind trees. Derek launched into an attack with Peter. Scott and Isaac moved close to one of the witches, singling her out. Stiles heard the ripping of clothes. Scott was hurled back. Isaac howled in pain. It occurred to him while he watched that this wasn’t normal.

Derek had already doused himself in mistletoe and the witch could still touch him. She kicked at his chest, making Derek fly back and collide with a tree. The cracking of bones made Stiles clench his jaw.

He needed to _do_ something.

Stiles sprinted forward, hindered the witch in closing in on Derek again. He had her right where he wanted her, threw his jar, watched the dust settle.

And what he saw then made his blood curl and his limbs freeze.

He realised his mistake too late.

Only when the face in front of him changed – changed to something so horrid, he had never seen – did it click in Stiles’ head. 

Those weren’t witches.

Those were _not_ fucking _witches_!


	3. CRUENTUS: blood-thirsty & gory

> _Hell sent us the vilest disease. And we humans called it love._

Stiles had seen their faces and there was no question about it.

Those were not witches.

Those things had nothing human in them. He was thoroughly tempted to do a quick Hail Mary, just to be sure, ridiculous as it was.

What was even worse was that he and Lydia had gotten it dead wrong. They should have paid more attention, should have looked into those scars on their faces. Then this wouldn’t have ended in disaster, they wouldn’t have had to run for their lives. 

A shriek alerted him to the danger a split second before the non-witch flew at him. He ducked down, narrowly avoiding a dagger slicing into him.

“RUN!” he heard Derek yell. The pack instantly fell into motion. Those Stiles could see ran for cover, obviously having seen their faces too. One witch was still on his trail. He crashed through the underwood, dashing forward until his shoulder collided with a tree. It was like he could taste the witch on his tongue if he breathed deeply enough. The sound that came from her had nothing human anymore. Stiles had never been so grateful for accelerated speed. He let his legs shift, fell to the ground, running on all fours now. 

“Watch it!” Jackson was suddenly there, barrelling into the witch behind him. Stiles hadn’t realised, how close she had gotten. The witch fell backwards but was on her feet a second later.

“Come on, Stilinski!” Jackson pulled him forward, snarling at the witch when she came close again. He heard Scott howl somewhere to his left, breathed a sigh of relief when Derek answered a few feet over. Jackson urged him on, made him run faster.

“Don’t let up now,” Jackson bit out, panic sweeping into his scent. Stiles wasn’t far behind. He zig-zagged through the preserve, ducked when the witch continued to cast spells at them. None of them hit but some were narrow misses.

The witch shrieked some incantation. Stiles crouched, jumped. He tumbled into a clearing, immediately raced forward until a howl of pain made him stop. He turned, saw Jackson going down. It wasn’t a decision he needed to make. As fast as he could, he ran over, pulling Jackson up, inspecting the damage.

“She should be here,” Jackson breathed, robbing away from the edges of the woods like something could come flying out of there any minute now.

Stiles ignored the comment, focussing instead on Jackson’s leg.

“Where’d she hit you.”

Jackson tried to stand but had to hold onto Stiles’ shoulder as to not fall back down. He was wobbly on his feet, couldn’t put weight on it.

“Here,” he pointed at his ankle. Stiles noticed, it was swollen.

“Feels like it’s burning.”

And it looked like it too. She must have thrown a ball of fire or something. Deaton had tried to teach Stiles a similar move but he had burned the office chair. The incident had led to the mutual decision of laying off the fire hazards for the moment.

“I can’t heal it,” Stiles said, regret so evident in his voice, it pained even himself to hear it. Jackson tried to shrug it off but the way his face scrunched up and his skin paled, Stiles knew, it must hurt. The wound should have been gone by now and it wasn’t. Of course, those bitches knew spells which wouldn’t be affected by Jackson’s healing powers.

“We need to get going,” Stiles carried as much of Jackson’s weight as he could. 

“Wait,” Jackson gasped, fingers cramping in Stiles’ upper arm. Alarm registered in Stiles’ brain at Jackson’s unwillingness to move. Time as of the essence, he knew from experience. But the, he realised, Jackson was right. There was something strange going on. The witch had been so close to them, she should have been here by now.

_So why wasn’t she?_

And then, Jackson asked the question Stiles hadn’t even thought about.

“Where are the others?”

His blood ran cold in his veins. He listened for any sign, for a howl or a voice he could place. Even a heartbeat, coughing, pained whimpers. But there was nothing here.

It was plain as day, obvious now that they were standing on the clearing, holding onto each other so desperately with no one else here to help them.

They had gotten separated. Stiles hadn’t realised until now. Despite Jackson’s presence, he felt so damn alone, it threatened to suffocate him.

This was the worst thing like everyone with half a brain knew. In horror films, that was when shit went crazy. Stiles desperately listened for any sound that would alert him to the presence of Scott or Derek but he couldn’t feel either Alpha anymore. If anything, that scared him more. The bond between them, he had thought it permanent and now, after getting used to it, there was nothing but abyss waiting. Only Jackson’s thread, his feelings, were still there. Stiles clung to them like Jackson clung to him. 

“What’s going on?” Jackson forced out between breaths. Stiles, if he were still human, would have easily been fooled by his angry demeanour. But since he was a were-being now too, he heard the frantic beat of Jackson’s heart plain as day.

“I don’t know,” he whispered back, eyes skipping to the edges of the preserve, praying one of their own would come crashing out of it.

“I can’t feel them,” Jackson said sounded hoarse. 

“I can’t either.”

“Do you,” Jackson started before trailing off. Stiles understood. He didn’t know how to put it in words either. That antsy feeling rose in his chest, refused to settle no matter how much Stiles tried. Their phones were silent, just like the woods. Unnaturally silent, even.

“Do you hear that?”

Jackson barked out an irritated “What?” and whipped his head around as if one look at Stiles’ face would give him an inkling as to what was going on.

But Stiles was miles ahead already, gesticulating wildly, “exactly!”

“Words, Stilinski,” Jackson ground out and made it sound like he was crushing his teeth with the force of his jaw snapping shut. 

“I don’t hear anything.” Saying it out loud irked him even more than the absolute lack of sound surrounding them. In his gut, he knew, something wasn’t right. 

“So?” Jackson said pointedly gesturing like it he couldn’t figure out why it mattered. Stiles knew, it wasn’t that he was too stupid, but that he was so highly strung, so pre-occupied with his fight-response, he didn’t have the capacity to see what Stiles had seen a minute ago.

“We’re in the middle of the preserve and I don’t hear a thing.”

“If you don’t spit it out-”

“This is a trap…” he realised, heart plummeting. 

Jackson summed up his feelings on the matter in an elaborate and heartfelt “Shit.”

* * *

_A mistake._

Derek realised too late how royally he had screwed it up this time. He was still on the run, breath coming fast with Scott and Boyd by his side. He had watched Stiles throw mistletoe at the witch and then all hell had broken loose. Those faces, Derek would never forget. He had rarely ever seen something so hideous.

“Stop!” Boyd screeched to a halt beside him, almost running over Scott. He got an eyebrow from Scott at the sudden command but he didn’t care. There was something wrong. The witches were gone. Nothing was chasing them any longer. Not even that persistent smell of sulfur was hovering in the air like it had on that clearing.

“What’s going on? We have to go!” Scott urged, panic so plain on his face, Derek wanted to barf. They couldn’t go. Not when they had been separated from the pack.

“Where are the others?” Boyd put into words what Derek couldn’t bring himself to say.

“Lydia and Allison were on my right when we made a run for it,” Scott contributed, worry seeping into his scent. Derek had to turn away.

“I saw Isaac- he ran towards the cars.” All three of them thought the same thing in that moment: please, let him have made it to safety. At least one of them had to get out of here alive. Even if it was just to alert the Sheriff and Chris.

“I think Peter and Erica might’ve gotten away,” Boyd said but didn’t sound convinced. There was an edge to his voice, likely because it was Erica and he didn’t know for sure. Derek wished – prayed – he could do something. 

Scott, still crouched down, turned towards Derek.

“You still feel them?”

Derek felt himself nod, mouth dry. Only then, after swallowing down what felt like his heart attempting to leave his body via his mouth, did he add “everyone but Stiles and Jackson.”

“Why them?” Boyd asked, peering over the bush behind which they were hiding. It was a good question, one Derek didn’t particularly feel like he wanted an answer to. 

“They’ve got to-” Scott trailed off, a shadow of fear passing over his face, “you don’t think-”

“No.” Derek said and hoped his voice conveyed what his chemo-signals surely wouldn’t. That he was sure, that there was no way they were dead. He couldn’t think about that. They had to keep their heads.

“It has to be deliberate,” Boyd said with conviction, “they separated us on purpose so that they could get us alone.”

Derek was instantly overwhelmed with guilt. What an Alpha he was. Letting his pack fend for themselves. He and Scott should have each accompanied a group. They should have made an escape plan.

“Do you think- do you think, it’s a trap?” Scott’s voice had gone up, signalling his distress. Derek admitted, he had considered that too.

“I didn’t know, they could sever the pack bond,” Boyd threw in, giving a voice to the thoughts in Derek’s head. How had they done it? 

Why had they looked like that?

What were they?

“If it’s a trap, we have to get them out!” Scott whisper yelled into his ear. He fought back the urge to wring Scott’s neck to make him shut up.

“We have to get the whole pack together first,” Boyd intervened, once more being reasonable where everyone else was losing it. He was Derek’s favourite after all. Apart from- well, from Stiles.

 _Don’t think about that_ , his conscience warned him. It was right. Derek couldn’t afford to daydream. Not now.

Derek still thought, he detected a bit of nerves from him. He supposed it made sense, seeing as Erica wasn’t with them. And despite all of them feeling Erica quite clearly through the pack bond, that thread could be snapped easily. They had seen it, five seconds ago when suddenly Jackson and Stiles’ threads had been cut. Derek refused to lean into that feeling of loss. They were still alive, just cut off. Nothing more.

 _Yeah, keep telling yourself that, honey,_ a voice in his head snarled which sounded horridly like Kate. He could almost see her grinning at him with those teeth that had always been too sharp to pass for innocent.

“Derek-” it was Scott’s hand on his arm which pulled him out of the abyss. He nodded at the other Alpha, leaking his gratitude through their Alpha bond.

“We’ll get them out,” Scott promised, suddenly a lot less panicked. Derek knew, he rose to the occasion every time, but witnessing Scott’s strength built was always a sight to behold.

True Alpha indeed.

* * *

“Shsht.”

Were it any other day, Stiles would have protested loudly against being shushed like that. And by Jackson of all people. But because it wasn’t any other day and he had been in situations like this before, in fact, so many times, he had lost count, he kept his mouth shut. The noiselessness made him restless.

“You think, they’re here?” he asked, breathless and trying so hard to be quiet. Jackson looked indecisive but ultimately gave a curt nod.

He was about to suggest a game plan, a possible line of defence. Deaton had explained to him how to cast a protective barrier. The only hang up was that Stiles needed to believe, it would work and he knew, rationally, that those things – whatever they were – were much more powerful than him. There was no way his barrier would hold, even if he managed to build it in time.

“What-” Jackson’s question was cut short when the bushes in front of them rustled. Stiles was pushed behind him although, Stiles didn’t know why. He was a werefox, he could hold his own.

All logical thought vaporised when a figure approached, and the most beautiful sound reached his ears. He had never before heard a voice like that. Soft, melodious. Instantly, he was reminded of an old Greek tale, of Sirens, luring men into the water to drown them.

He wanted to cover his ears but then he saw Jackson staggering towards the source of the sound. The source which was so obviously the witch from before. She was singing, although not really. Her mouth was open but she didn’t appear to be doing much more than keeping it that way. Jackson seemed utterly entranced. Stiles had a hard time not falling for it too. He suspected, it had to do with his own magic, but he couldn’t be sure, didn’t have time to think on it.

“Stop,” he bit out, pulling at Jackson, who refused to listen to him, “don’t follow her.”

Jackson’s eyes were focussed on the witch, empty of rational thought. Panic spread through Stiles like electricity. He had to do something, had to prevent this from happening but he didn’t know how. Deaton hadn’t taught him how to break a ban like that yet. 

“Stay here,” he barked out, still holding onto Jackson’s shoulder so hard, he heard his shirt rip, “don’t you dare- Jackson!” But Jackson had gotten loose, was sprinting towards the witch. Stiles could only watch, frozen in horror where he stood. The witch made a motion with her hand and Jackson fell to the ground, unmoving. The shout, Stiles let out had the treetops shaking with its force. He prayed with every fibre of his being that Derek might hear- that someone might come.

“You’re a strange one,” the witch’s voice whispered into his ear. He hadn’t seen her move, couldn’t shrug her off when she touched him.

The last thing, he saw was Jackson’s unconscious body being dragged across the ground.

* * *

_Failure, failure, failure_ , ran in a loop in Derek’s brain.

He and Scott had called the pack to them using the Alpha voice and everyone but Jackson and Stiles had appeared. Of course, Derek should have been realistic but he hadn’t been able to help it. Hope was a potent motivator and so cruel when proven false.

“We’re getting them back, Derek,” Allison said from his left. She looked worse for wear, cradling her arm delicately like it was broken. Derek wanted to take her pain but Scott was already there.

“Don’t you dare think of breaking down now,” Lydia hissed into his ear. She stood firm and taller than she should have been able to, considering her height. But Derek revelled in the way she carried herself. If Lydia set her mind to it, they would get them back. Derek had learned, over time, to trust in her as Stiles did. That girl was as fierce as they came, especially since she wasn’t a wolf.

Banshee, Derek thought, suited her quite well.

“Where could they have taken them?” Isaac wanted to know, crouched down on the ground as if trying to sniff out a possible direction. A good idea, in and of itself, if those things weren’t witches.

“Did anyone else hear Stiles scream that these things weren’t witches?” Erica asked suddenly. Her injuries were healing already but at a slower pace than usual. Derek suspected, those things had added a little spice to their spells. 

When he realised, he sounded like Stiles another wave of guilt swept over him. He felt the bile rise in his throat and quickly swallowed.

 _Don’t show any weakness,_ he drilled into himself _, not now. Later, when Stiles is back in your arms, you can fall apart. Stiles will put you back together. Just get to Stiles._

The mantra kept him going, made him tune back in to the conversation at hand.

“I heard him too,” Peter suddenly piped up. He was leaning against a tree, looking relaxed upon first glance but there was a tension in his jaw and his eyes still gleamed electric blue. Derek wasn’t surprised. Stiles had always been Peter’s favourite.

“Any idea what it means?” Allison addressed Derek in particular like Stiles had somehow communicated to him what he had been thinking. Unfortunately for all of them, that was not the case. Derek fought down the urge to hit himself at the idea of Stiles dying because of his stupidity.

“Can we postpone this discussion and focus on the issue at hand? Because there are two people missing here and none of you are coming up with ideas to get them back!” Lydia’s voice had reached banshee levels, her voice shrill and stinging in Derek’s ears. Her reprimand worked, though, and he was grateful for it.

“We need to find out where they are taking them.”

“Back to the nemton?”

Isaac shook his head, seemed to mull it over before saying “bit obvious, don’t you think?” 

But Lydia didn’t seem concerned. She straightened, looked right at Derek before leaning in.

“Or just obvious enough.”

Scott’s incredulous “what are you talking about?” voiced Derek’s own doubt. 

“If you didn’t want to be followed, where would you hide?”

It was Peter who broke out into a grin first, Peter who told Derek, he was lucky that, while half of the pack’s brain was missing, the other half still worked. Because Lydia had a point. And it seemed, a very good one.

“In plain sight,” Derek heard his own voice say.

* * *

_Burning flesh._

That was the first sensation which registered in Stiles’ brain when his eyelids fluttered and the nemeton came into sight. He whipped around, instantly noticing that he was bound to a tree, and that Jackson was beside him.

A constant flow of words interrupted his attempt to ask Jackson what was going on. The witches, or whatever they were, kept chanting, their words getting louder steadily.

Stiles had enough common sense to know that this wasn’t looking good. He still couldn’t feel any of the others but at least, the sounds of the forest were back. 

“Are you okay?” Stiles mouthed to Jackson who nodded. It looked painful and that was when Stiles saw the dagger in Jackson’s chest, pinning him to the tree. Now that he thought about it, there was a piercing pain inside him too. True to form, they hadn’t forgotten about him either. There was even a trace of mountain ash on the handle, indicating, they had done their homework.

The lack of poison in his system should have worried him but for the moment, he was simply relieved. But not for long. Because if his dagger had been coated in mountain ash, that meant, Jackson’s was too.

He could see Jackson writhe in his bonds, likely to escape the burning sensation Stiles still didn’t feel. He was probably in shock still and the pain was being delayed by a system overload. His mind was racing with the need to do something, to free them but he didn’t know _how_. It made him furious, that helplessness. After being bitten and told what he was, he had thought he would be over it, that he wouldn’t ever have to watch his friends get hurt.

And here he was, helplessly watching Jackson’s body convulse.

The chanting got louder still. Jackson howled in pain. Stiles prayed, the pack would hear it. He wriggled, felt around for a splinter to loosen his bonds. He found, he couldn’t move a muscle, immobilised, it seemed by magic. Deaton, his brain drilled into him, Deaton had taught him how to use his magic.

_Believe in your magic and focus, come on!_

It took four tries before one of the bonds gave half an inch.

_Again!_

Sweat broke out on his upper lip, his forehead. He wished, he could wipe it away. Forcing himself to concentrate on his bonds and not the way Jackson was howling, he managed to get a little bit of breathing room. A bit more and he would be able to move his hands.

_Just a bit more, come on._

The witches didn’t pay him any attention. It seemed, they didn’t think him a real threat. Jackson on the other hand, had taken to screaming. Stiles wanted to barf. He couldn’t listen to this. He needed to get loose and help him. Those pained yells made his hands shake and his focus slip but they also bought him time. As long as Jackson was screaming, no one would know what he was doing.

Just as he wriggled his finger, untying the first knot of his bonds, his head snapped up. Jackson had stopped screaming. And he realised why too. Because one of the witches was in front of him, driving the dagger deeper into his chest. Jackson’s eyes bulged, he made no sound.

“You go first,” the witch mumbled, nails digging into Jackson’s chest. Stiles understood immediately what she was about to do.

“No!” he snapped, “do me first.” Jackson’s eyes widened like he wanted to tell him to stop but Stiles refused. He would not watch Jackson’s heart be ripped out of his chest. Absolutely not.

“This is not for you to decide,” the witch with the red hair hissed at him. She had something deranged about her, he noticed, unhinged.

“It does not make a difference,” another said, sounding almost bored, “if he wants to go first, let him. I always appreciate decisiveness.”

The witch let up on Jackson’s chest, stepped closer to Stiles instead.

“Don’t- you- dare- Stilinski,” Jackson ground out, unable to string together a proper sentence. Stiles breathed, looked up to the stars. If this was his last minute, he would spend it thinking, he had bought Jackson some time. At least until Derek got here. Derek would get him out.

He always came for them.

Just like with the hunters, Derek would save Jackson.

He would be here.

“Are you ready little one?” the witch asked. Stiles felt how her nails bore into his skin.

“Stiles please!” Jackson sounded impossibly desperate but Stiles didn’t have the strength to look at him. He held onto hope that Derek was on his way.

The witch grinned viciously, showing her real face once again.

Her nails scratched the insides of his chest.

And Stiles _screamed_.

* * *

“Did you hear that?” Scott skidded to a halt. Another howl of pain, this time even closer. Derek had almost lost hope. Almost. And then, the howl had erupted from the trees like a desperate call for the pack. 

“Derek, did you hear that?” Scott repeated, frantically looking around. 

“That was Stiles,” Scott pulled him along, fell into a sprint, Derek hot on his heels, “that was Stiles- _come on_!”

Derek remembered running towards Stiles’ voice once before. It had been in those same woods and he had vowed never to think of it again. But this time, it made him run faster. Last time hadn’t been too late, and it wouldn’t be too late now. The scent of blood hung in the air, heavy on his nostrils but Derek pushed forward.

The nemeton came into view, six figures. He saw Jackson, felt a sudden snap go through him. Then there was Stiles suddenly everywhere. His senses were overwhelmed with all that was coming through the pack bond. He didn’t care if Scott was already beside him.

Without thinking it through, he launched into an attack. The witches must have been so sure in their little trick that they hadn’t seen him coming, hadn’t prepared. He hurled one of them away from Stiles, heard Boyd cut through the bonds holding up an almost unconscious Jackson. 

“Lydia!” Allison yelled, pulling out the dagger from Jackson’s chest. Derek whirled around before he could get his hands on the dagger deeply implanted in Stiles’ chest.

“Let me,” Lydia commanded, suddenly by his side and pulling at the mountain ash covered handle. Stiles sagged forward, coating Derek’s front in blood. instantly, Derek started draining the pain, howling when the full impact hit him. Boyd wasn’t better off. Derek saw him stagger, unable to carry both Jackson and his own weight.

“We need to get out of here,” Lydia pulled at this arm, not alarmed when he snarled at her.

“Derek!” Peter pushed him to the side before a spell could hit him.

“Let’s go,” he shouldered Stiles and fell into a sprint, trusting, his pack was following. Behind him, a scuffle broke out before he heard Lydia yell “cover”. Derek was far enough away not to need it but he saw how Erica ducked down, covering her ears. Lydia, taking a split second to make sure everyone was safe, let out a scream so shrill, Derek saw one witch start to bleed from her ears.

It wouldn’t buy them much time but at least, they had a few seconds more.

It was all they needed. They dashed through the preserve, reached the cars in the span of minutes. Derek threw Stiles into the Camaro. Scott jumped into the jeep where Boyd parked Jackson on the backseat. The others scramble to get into their respective cars. Derek waited as long as it took for the cars to speed out of the parking lot before he hit the gas with as much strength as he could.

Isaac, on the backseat cradled Stiles lifeless form in his hands, tried to prevent the worst when Derek took the corners too fast.

He could still hear Stiles breathing, which was the only thing that kept him sane. The voice in his head was still talking. Derek listened to it, clung to the words like a lifeline because if he didn’t, if he looked at Stiles, bloody and beaten and so pale, he would lose it.

 _In time_ , the voice said, _we were in time_.

* * *

“You came,” Stiles ground out when his eyes fluttered open and he saw the loft come into view. God, he was exhausted and shaky and so done with this day. If anyone ever mentioned witches to him again, he would decapitate them.

Derek scoffed. It was then that Stiles noticed the absence of the pack around him.

“Where are the others- where’s- is Jackson-”

Before he could launch into a full-blown panic attack, Derek sat down on the couch, reassuring him instantly.

“At Lydia’s. He needed- rest.” 

“I need to call him,” Stiles scrambled for the phone on the table in front of Derek’s couch. He could tell, Derek didn’t want him to because Jackson was probably asleep but Stiles wouldn’t rest until he heard Jackson’s voice.

“I need my beauty sleep, Stilinski. This face doesn’t just happen,” was what he was greeted with after the third ring. And while Jackson sounded much too weak for Stiles’ comfort, he was _alive_.

“Thank god,” he breathed, settling more easily against the cushions. 

“Don’t think god had much to do with it,” Jackson mumbled, “reckoned it was your stupid self-sacrificing act.”

Derek’s eyebrow went up at that. Stiles knew, they would have to talk about that later. For now, he was just glad, they had both made it out. Jackson hung up a minute later, after reassuring himself that Stiles was alright as well and then, suddenly, it was just the two of them. Derek’s eyes never left his and it unnerved him more than it should.

“What did he mean?”

For a brief moment, Stiles considered an attempt at deflecting but one look at the worry and exhaustion on Derek’s face and he decided to just get it over with. It wasn’t like Derek had a leg to stand on anyway when it came to self-sacrificing. Which wasn’t what Stiles had been trying to do.

“I couldn’t watch him get killed,” he confessed into the darkness of the loft.

“So, you decided it would be better if they killed you instead?” Stiles couldn’t really decipher Derek’s tone. It almost sounded like understanding.

“I knew, you’d come. I just needed to buy some time.”

“It worked.”

It had. But Stiles wasn’t about to tell Derek how narrow that time window had truly been.

“The wounds are all healed up by now,” Derek changed the topic in a not-so-subtle way. Stiles would take it, though, he didn’t want to have Derek reprimand him tonight.

“Scott’s out patrolling,” Derek continued like he wanted to reassure Stiles, they all still cared about him even if they weren’t physically present. Stiles appreciated it although he already knew, Scott had good reason to patrol the streets tonight.

“He’s coming for breakfast tomorrow at 10.”

Stiles nodded, feeling fatigue come over him. Silence settled between them, lured Stiles to sleep. Before he gave in, though, he whispered a soft “thank you” into the cushion. He’d rather it was Derek’s shoulder but Derek was still hovering at the edge of the couch.

“What if I can’t solve it?” he asked the ceiling, brain miles away in the woods trying to understand what had happened. It was hard to concentrate, especially with the adrenaline slowly leaking out of his system, but the threat of failure hung over him, scared him.

“Solve what?” Confusion tinged Derek’s voice, probably because Stiles hadn’t included him in his thinking process.

“What they want- how to stop them,” Stiles clarified. The slurring of his words alarmed him a little but he forced himself to calm down. He was just tired, this was normal after getting attacked.

“You can,” Derek said with such absolute conviction, it rattled Stiles to a point where he couldn’t help but stare. This man had so many trust issues and yet, he had apparently decided for Stiles to be the person to trust. He hoped, he could prove to Derek that his heart was safe with Stiles.

“But-”

Derek held up a hand before Stiles could elaborate. “We’ll find a way,” he said, “we always do.”

“Okay.” He decided to take Derek’s words at face value for now, unable to fight off sleep any longer. 

“Get some rest.”

“Derek-”

“Non-negotiable.” Oh, he hadn’t been about to. Just, there was one selfish little thing he wanted before he could rest for the night. 

“Can you- aren’t you going to stay?”

“Do you want me to?” Derek asked like that was even a question. But Stiles’ eyelids felt like concrete so he didn’t press it any more than asking “Why wouldn’t I?”

Derek shrugged out of his shirt, climbed onto the couch so that he was between Stiles and the door. Stiles almost chuckled at that display of protectiveness. He would have said it was unwarranted but after tonight, he didn’t feel confident in making that call.

“Just making sure,” he whispered and made it sound so natural. Derek was as new to this as Stiles was.

  
It should have occurred to Stiles right then that something was wrong. But it didn’t. Not when Derek kissed him goodnight, snuggled close. If Derek’s embrace threatened to crush his ribs, nobody had to know. Derek was just stressed out because of the close call. Stiles had to believed, they were alright, that they would make it out of this intact.

And maybe then, they could go on a date, give this relationship a real go.

* * *

The next day, the pack was over at Derek’s, skipping through the bestiaries and exhausting all of their sources. Jackson had put Stiles in a headlock upon entering, his way of being emotional, Derek guessed. Scott, who had been over at 10.30, looking like he had been through a college party and the aftermath, had swallowed down breakfast in one big go. Derek had wanted to chastises him for it but the circle under his eyes had stopped him.

He had retired to his bedroom to give Stiles and Scott some privacy and had descended the stairs half an hour later when Stiles had called for him to “get your ass down here, Scott’s stealing my candy.” Derek had even managed a smile.

Now though, that the whole pack was here and frantically trying to get the upper hand before the world came crashing down, Derek felt a tinge of sadness when looking at Stiles. He knew that things were different now.

“Holy shit!” Stiles exclaimed before Derek could ponder too deeply about the events of last night. 

“What?”

But instead of giving an answer, Stiles kept repeating “holy shit” like a mantra. Derek’s anxiety level spiked up to a hundred when he smelled the dread wafting off of Stiles.

It took Erica pulling at Stiles’ shirt for him to sit back on his heels, lift his head. His gaze caught Derek’s and what he saw there made him inhale sharply. Stiles’ face had so many expressions but Derek was repulsed by the one it displayed now: _terror_.

“I know what they are.” The pack shrinked back at the undeniable fear in Stiles’ voice, at the way he fidgeted like he didn’t want to say what needed to be said. Stiles’ reaction to the words on the page was enough to make all of them uneasy. 

Apparently, Jackson couldn’t take the built up any longer because he elbowed Stiles in the ribs, telling him without using words, to get the hell on with it. Derek almost lost it when he realised later, how spot on that description had been.

“They aren’t witches. They’re demons. And they are fucking powerful.” Stiles didn’t do well with having all the attention on him, Derek was well aware. So it didn’t surprise him when Stiles started stammering “that’s why it felt so off- why I couldn’t- why I couldn’t pinpoint it- why I didn’t realise, when it passed the territory line that it was more than one- because they’re not witches- they’re demons.”

To Scott’s credit, he didn’t miss a beat asking “what do we do?”

Meanwhile, Derek was still processing the fact that demons were even a thing. Weren’t their usual monsters enough? Did this really have to get to biblical proportions too?

“We wait them out. Let them come to us. They know, we’re onto them anyway.”

“You just wanna wait?”

“If they are what you say they are, there is no other way. They’ll show their face again because they wanted to do something and we stopped them. We intervened. They’re going to wreak havoc on this town until they get what they came here for.” The silence following Peter’s words was so eerie it made a shiver run down Stiles’ spine.

“Okay,” Derek said and it sounded like a command this time. The authority of the Alpha voice crackled in the air like static. “We tackled whichever one come knocking first.”

“Take them out one by one, I like it,” Isaac said, inspecting his claws.

“There’s no guarantee they show up alone.”

“You don’t know demons,” Peter smirked, making himself look more unhinged than usual, “they are a dramatic bunch. And I bet, they are going to give us a taste, even if it’s just to show off.”

“How long do you think it’ll take them?” Allison asked at the same time as Boyd wanted to know “what do they want here?”

Both valid questions in Derek’s point of view, neither of which he had an answer to.

“That is the million-dollar question,” Peter pointed at Boyd, reclining himself in his seat. It was evident, he didn’t know either and that it irked him.

Stiles was about to go on about something he had found when Derek’s phone rang. He saw the caller-ID and almost didn’t pick up. There was something to be said about putting your head in the sand and ignoring the problem until it went away.

Only, Derek knew, he couldn’t do that.

“Sheriff?” Stiles’ heart did a double take as it was prone to whenever his father called Derek instead of Stiles. It was pack rule that the Sheriff only ever called Derek about pack business. Despite being aware that almost all the people in the room could hear the Sheriff recalling the events of the last hour, Derek still addressed the pack as whole after he had hung up.

“It seems,” he said, voice grave, “at least, we’ve got an answer to Allison’s question.”

* * *

_Pick one_ , that was what Derek had said. So, he and Scott had decided on the red head. She had seemed the easiest target, the one with the least rational thinking. His father had come over last night, rousing Stiles from his dreamless sleep. A hug and some tea later and the Sheriff had been equipped with knowledge and red in the face with fury about Stiles’ attempt to save Jackson.

Then, around lunch, the fateful call had come, informing Derek of four separate incidents occurring at the same time. Just like Peter had said, the demons were attacking at once so that the pack had to choose their battle. They knew, the pack wasn’t going to split up so they had given them four different options.

Stiles, driving the Jeep with Scott riding shotgun and Erica in the back, mulled it over whether this was the right call.

“Stop worrying, it’s gonna be fine. We know what we’re up against now.”

“But we have no idea if it’ll work.” It being the silver bullets and holy water guns in the trunk. They had taken a hint from the Winchesters on that one.

“Remember what Deaton said?” Scott said, watching the streets closely as if he anticipated a demon materialising out of thin air. It would have been laughable if Stiles hadn’t been thinking the same thing not a minute earlier.

“Need to be bit more precise, buddy,” Stiles said around a smile. Suddenly, this felt so normal, talking to Scott in his car. “Your boss says a lot a’ things.”

Scott punched him in the arm before breaking out in a smile that matched his own.

“Don’t be like that,” he chuckled, turning serious again, “about believing in yourself?”

Stiles wanted to interject with something smart when Erica leaned forward. 

“You know, I’ve been thinking about that,” she said, “because if Deaton’s right that there’s no way it won’t work.”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles must have lost the red thread somewhere, probably due to his concentrating on getting Roscoe to the mall in one piece.

“I mean, you believed Derek would save you- that he would be there in time and he was.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You guys were close already.”

“Yeah but you said it yourself: you couldn’t hear us. And we didn’t hear Jackson scream. We only heard you. Because you _believed_ , Derek would come for you.”

“Actually, I think, I should be offended that you didn’t believe _I_ would come for you, dude,” Scott joked good-naturedly. Even Erica grinned when Stiles caught her eye in the rear-view mirror.

“Come on, Scott,” Erica patted his shoulder, “you know how those two are with their epic love confessions in life or death situations.”  
Stiles spluttered in indignant outrage.

“I’ll have you know, there was none of that last night.” Although, in the privacy of his own head, he had to admit, Derek carrying him to safety did kind of classify.

And he would be lying if he said, he didn’t get a fluttery feeling in his stomach when thinking about that.

Butterflies and all that. 

* * *

The mall of all places was filled to the brim with people running for their lives. They entered as a group, backing each other, careful not to disclose what they were just yet. His dad was already working on his end to secure the building and get out any civilians safely.

“You good?” Isaac asked from his left. Stiles gave a quick nod, trying to pick out the demon witch by scenting the area. The mall was a good place to hide, he supposed, too many scents, too many people. He had to admit, the gal had brains.

“You all saw her,” he reassured himself, “you know what she looks like?” A few nods registered and he trusted the rest would have spoken up now if that weren’t the case.

“Do we know what kind of demon she is?” Lydia asked, scanning a nail salon with her binoculars.

“Nope,” Stiles replied, trying not to worry about that. They had searched the internet and the bestiary for that symbol engraved on her cheek but hadn’t found anything at all.

“I still think there’s some sort of hierarchy,” he said peering over the railing of the first floor. The mall was eerily silent at this point, everyone having been escorted out. Lydia nodded, as did Jackson. Stiles was irked, he hadn’t had time to find out more before going in but instead of fixating on his regret, he channelled his focus on believing in the power of the bullets.

“DOWN!” Derek suddenly yelled, sending Stiles flying with the force of his hit. At first, Stiles didn’t understand what had happened, then he saw the arrow sticking out from where he had been standing a second before.

Just when he resigned himself with being Derek’s personal ragdoll for the rest of the day, he noticed what had softened his fall. He was resting on the body of a dead security guard. Instantly, he scrambled away, smearing blood over the floor. He barely managed not to throw up but it was close.

“Hunter,” she heard Allison breathe, not fully comprehending what she meant.

“That shot was impossible,” Allison elaborated, out of breath and eyeing the upper levels like she anticipated another attack.

“She almost hit you and she couldn’t have. That’s not witchcraft- that’s a hunter demon.”

“How do you know that?” Scott’s face was caught between awe and horror, probably because both Allison and Stiles had been so close to the arrow when it had hit.

“Can’t be anything else,” she said, shrugging. 

“Are you sure?” Derek demanded, his voice harsher than Stiles felt the situation warranted. Allison merely pulled out the arrow, finger gliding along its shaft as if to check for something.

“Yes,” she replied, levelling Derek with an unwavering gaze. Apparently, that was good enough because Derek whirled around, running towards the stairs. Stiles fell into motion a second later, having needed a moment to collect himself. Hunter demons. He hadn’t even been aware that that was a thing.

“Anything else you know about them?” he threw over his shoulder while chasing Derek.

“Perfect aim,” she ground out, “excellent trackers.”

“Great.”

She smiled apologetically, even with dimples, before Scott yelled a warning. Instantly, she dove for cover, but it was too late. The arrow hit right in her ankle and she fell to the ground. 

“If that isn’t proof,” Stiles heard her murmur. He couldn’t help but agree. Despite having no idea where that arrow had come from, he kept his head low and moved closer to Derek. Scott was already at Allison’s side, pulling her behind a vending machine that had been knocked over. Allison didn’t seem in too bad a shape considering the bleeding and the inability to move her ankle without jostling the arrow.

Stiles heard her gasp when Scott pulled it out.

“Stay where you are,” Peter’s voice dragged along the entire floor. The pack heeded his warning, with Scott covering Allison so that they would have to go through him first if they wanted to hurt her. Stiles could see Isaac from here he was taking cover and the helpless expression on his face pained him. He could vividly imagine how hard it was for him not to be with his partners right now.

“I can smell her,” Derek breathed into Stiles’ ear like he wanted to make sure the demon didn’t hear. Stiles sniffed the air and instantly recoiled at the sulphur hitting him. How he had missed that major clue before, Stiles didn’t want to dwell on. It was certainly one his bigger miscalculations.

Derek was about to move forward when a new voice boomed through the empty mall.

“Come out come out wherever you are!” Stiles shivered. She sounded so incredibly crazed, it frightened him.

“Not that I need you to,” she laughed and it had something undeniably maniacal, “this way’s more fun.”

Allison’s words from before came back to him: tracker. That’s what she was. That’s why she hadn’t attacked yet because she enjoyed the hunt. 

“We’re prey,” he murmured, catching Derek’s worried expression.

“What?” Derek mouthed at him, obviously distraught. 

“She’s just playing with her food, that’s all.” The realisation shook him to the core, made him feel hunted like big game. Ironic, how they had claws and fangs and were still the prey in this scenario. 

“What do you suppose we do?” Derek hissed, gaze skipping over each corner he could see.

“We need to get her to come to us. She’s enjoying this, so let’s lure her in. Let her come after us.” He could tell from the expression on Derek’s face that he thought him mad but he didn’t protest. Stiles took it as Derek saying, he wasn’t okay with this but he also didn’t have another idea.

“How?” was all Derek asked, making eye contact with Isaac and then Boyd and Erica. Jackson and Lydia, much like Allison and Scott, they couldn’t see from this angle.

Instead of offering an explanation, Stiles motioned for Derek to follow him. He trusted, the others would be smart enough to do so as well. They ducked into one of the grocery stores on this floor, going right for the garlic. 

“Smart move,” Jackson barked out after dousing himself in pepper. Once they were sufficiently covered, Derek smelled him and scrunched up his nose.

“I can’t tell you apart from the garlic.” Which was the entire point.

“We’re gonna split up,” he announced, “she can’t track us all at once. Dad texted me five minutes ago that the other three are still at wreaking havoc over at their spots. She’s alone and we’re a pack. We do groups of two and see who she goes after.”

“That is either brilliant or mad,” Isaac whispered sounding appalled and excited at the same time. The groups were easily built, although Isaac joined Erica and Boyd seeing as they were an uneven number.

With one last “let’s go,” the group dashed into different directions.

One had got to be it, Stiles thought.

He was torn between wanting it to be him and Derek and praying it wasn’t.

* * *

On a day like this, Derek wished, he had never met Stiles. Crouching down in a bathroom, waiting to be attacked with Stiles plastered to his side smelling of garlic was not something he ever wanted to repeat.

The others were all alive and doing well, as far as Derek could tell. The pack bond pulsed around his hands like a physical red thread and he was glad for it.

A sudden creak made Derek’s head snap up. The smell of sulphur hit him. Stiles sighed on his right, like he had seen this coming from a mile away. At least, Derek wouldn’t have to suffer through his pack being slaughtered this time around.

“You really thought, this would work? That I’d fall for a bit of garlic and some sauce?”

 _Don’t say it_ , he prayed to whoever was listening, _don’t you say it, Stiles_.

But for once in his life, Stiles kept his mouth shut and remained silent where he was. His fingers cramped into Derek’s upper arm before closing around the gun in his hands.

“You are such impertinent mortals. Always thinking, you have the upper hand just because nature gave you the gift of the moon.”

Talk about outdated values, Derek thought and saw Stiles roll his eyes. This girl or demon or whatever she was had obviously lost it a few centuries ago. Hellfire would do that to you.

“I will erase you and your pathetic pack from the face of the earth.” Derek had one second to digest the threat before an arrow hit Stiles right in the kneecap. He had no idea where the shot had come from and before he could figure it out, the red head had him pinned to the wall. She was stronger than she looked, her face shifted to something deranged, dead looking. Stiles tried to stand but with a wave of her hand, he collapsed, coughing blood.

“Stop,” Derek ground out. He couldn’t help it. Stiles would always be his weak spot and he couldn’t- he just couldn’t lose him. Not ever. The cackle made him want to bash her skull in but her grip didn’t waver. 

“I don’t think so. No, no, no.” She motioned with her finger in front of his face and he urged to bite it off. “If you move a muscle, I’ll snap his neck so fast, you won’t even have time to hear it.” Derek went stock still, eyes glued to Stiles’.

“Don’t-” he said, refusing to admit to begging.

“Oh you misunderstand me, dear.” She made sure he was watching when she shot an arrow from her quiver without even looking at her target. Stiles howled in pain, curled in on himself.

“I’m gonna kill him anyway. But if you make any move, it’s gonna be a long, painful death. You get to watch your lover die and then it’s gonna be your turn, Alpha,” she snarled at him before a dagger Derek had not seen up to that point buried itself deep in his chest. One of his ribs cracked upon impact, he felt it pierce his lungs. The mountain ash burned through him so fast, he had no time to react. She let him go and he fell to the floor, crawling until he collapsed on Stiles’ side. 

“It’s okay, Der,” Stiles smile at him with a trickle of blood running down his neck. There was something in his eyes that Derek had seen before. The burn of the mountain ash kept him from taking away Stiles’ pain. 

“I’m sorry,” he ground out, wishing himself back home, anywhere but here. Once more, this was his fault and now he would lose Stiles because he hadn’t been able to defend him. 

But Stiles squeezed his hand and winked. Derek didn’t have time to progress, it all happened so fast.

“Hey lady,” Stiles said sounding much less injured than he looked. The demon whirled around, face mad with fury. 

“Why aren’t you dead?” she screeched, throwing herself on Stiles who barely escaped the onslaught by rolling away.

She reached for him again but Derek was faster. With all the strength he could muster, he wrenched her arms back. He felt the joints in her shoulders give, dislocated her upper arm. She howled in pain, snapped her fangs at him.

“Because we’re not just impertinent mortals,” Stiles answered her earlier question with a smirk. Derek wanted to yell at him to get on with it – he felt his grip loosen with every passing second – when he noticed the gun in Stiles’ hands. Stiles closed his eyes, a soft sound passed his lips, and he pulled the trigger.

The demon laughed at him, “water? really that’s all you-” but she didn’t get much further than that. Derek instantly let go when her skin began melting off her bones. The screaming would haunt him forever. She collapsed to the ground, flesh and blood mixing in a disgusting pile of goo on the ground.

When it was over, Derek helped Stiles up after Stiles pulled out the dagger.

“What- was that?” Derek heaved, trying to clean off some of the blood covering his hands. The stickiness was making his stomach turn.

“I had to get her close for this to work.”

“So this was all planned?” he was aware that his voice had reached banshee level, both in volume and height, but he didn’t care. Stiles didn’t seem worried. He shrugged, washing his hands in the sink.

“Deaton said, it would work if I believed in it enough.”

“And you didn’t think, you should tell me that?” 

“There was no time.”

_“I don’t care!”_

“Derek-”

“What!?”

It was Scott, putting a hand on his arm.

“Allison needs a hospital.”

He levelled Stiles with another scathing look, the pit in his stomach re-opening. How could Stiles be so non-chalant when Derek had almost had a heart attack? Did he not care? No. No that was nonsense. Derek knew Stiles cared. Maybe too much.

Maybe they both cared too much. 

This entire plan had only worked because Stiles knew, that demon would go after the both of them. Because they were each other’s weak spots.

In the car, watching Stiles lost in thoughts, Derek realised how much that could cost both of them.

* * *

The door fell close behind them. The air was heavy with anxiety, worries neither of them had given a voice to.

Stiles watched Derek pace up and down and knew instantly, he was working up the nerve to say something. The dread which had been steadily filling his stomach ever since that night, had reached its maximum.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked, fidgeting where he stood. He didn’t really want to but not knowing proved much more stressful than knowing. Whatever it was, he firmly believed they could work through it.

That was until Derek fixed him with narrowed eyes and said:

_“We need to talk.”_  
  



	4. FUROR: fury, rage & madness

> _I need to be with someone who cares about me as much as I care about them because I’m so tired of always being the one who cares more._

Great. On top of everything else, Derek had that specific facial expression. His martyr expression, Scott liked to call it. Derek always looked like that when he was about to do something drastically stupid. Over the years, Stiles had come to realise, this specific expression oftentimes closely related to himself.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Derek said and sounded so incredibly nonchalant, Stiles was floored.

“You can’t do what anymore?” Because he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out what the hell Derek was talking about. Surely, he couldn’t mean-

“Us,” Derek gestured at the space between them, “this.”

“This?” Maybe if Stiles played dumb, Derek wouldn’t- 

“This relationship.” His stomach plummeted.

_No._

_Please no.  
_

_Everything but this.  
_

“You can’t do this relationship anymore,” Stiles repeated, feeling like the world was coming down on his head and burying him underneath its weight. He had to repeat it, taste it on his tongue because it felt so surreal.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“What?” Derek threw him a look that said, he hadn’t anticipated having to justify himself. But if he thought, Stiles was going to just drop this, he was mistaken. Not after he had had a taste of what they could be. 

“Why,” Stiles stepped forward, arms crossed. “I deserve to know why, Derek.” He refused to budge on this. If Derek was adamant on ending it, he had to give Stiles a goddamn reason. And he better make it good because Stiles was not about to give this up. Not for anything.

“Because I don’t love you.”

The silence which followed was laced with so much pain, Stiles tasted it in the air. And not all of it was his. Actually, now that he took a deep breath, he realised, none of it was his. Because he hadn’t even had the time to think this through, for Derek’s words to truly settle in. He was about to argue, to ask Derek what he had done to screw this up when his senses and his brain finally caught up with each other.

“You’re lying,” he said. 

“What?” Derek froze in the middle of a step forward. Now that Stiles concentrated, it was plain as day. He tuned in a bit more, searched for all the signs just to make sure, he had gotten it right. Only then did he allow his eyes to narrow, to keep Derek in this stand-still of his that he seemed so caught in. 

“You were the one who taught me, Derek,” he said with rising confidence, “and I can hear that you’re lying. I can see it too.” He motioned at Derek’s eyes, to his neck where his pulse point was pumping violently. 

“What I don’t understand is why. Why do you pretend that you want to break up with me? That you don’t- that you don’t love me…” It was difficult to even say it out loud when he would have preferred to never think of those words again. It hurt too much to even count them in as an actual possibility.

He saw a moment of realisation dawn on Derek’s face that made him feel justified and gave him a surge of confidence that he was _right_. With more bravado than he had, he took another step towards Derek.

“We took so long to get here and now you want to throw it away because you’re scared? Is that it? You’re scared I’m gonna get hurt?” It was so easy, all of a sudden, understanding Derek’s thought process. As stupid and ridiculous it may be. 

“Stiles-” Derek tried to intervene but Stiles didn’t let him. He would not stand for this madness a moment longer. They both deserved better than that.

“There is always a chance, I’ll get hurt, Derek. You can’t change that. Hell, I hurt myself on a daily basis. And now I have the added bonus of accelerated healing so it’s really not that big of a deal.”

“I don’t want to be responsible for getting you hurt…” In between huffing and preparing his counter argument, Stiles took a second to analyse what had brought this on.

_Why now?  
_

Once he realised, he couldn’t find an answer, he zeroed in on Derek again.

“So you’re just gonna hurt me by leaving me instead? Is that your genius master plan? Because if so, that sucks, Derek.”

“Stiles-” and it was the tone that said it all. Derek honestly believed, Stiles would get over this if he left him for real. He couldn’t even begin to explain how wrong Derek was. If Lydia was hard, Derek was impossible to get over.

“No!” he bellowed, refusing to back down, “if you think that you leaving me is going to go over fine then you’re seriously wrong in the head!” 

“I can’t risk-”

But Stiles wasn’t listening anymore. He knew, if he didn’t do something here, Derek would go through with it. That’s what Derek did, no matter that he was breaking both of their hearts while doing it. If he truly believed, he would save Stiles that way, he would leave him here and disappear. Stiles was not about to let that happen. So while Derek was rambling on about risks and saving lives, Stiles was calculating his options. The time for drastic measures had certainly arrived.

“I can’t lose you,” he bit out, strategically interrupting Derek’s martyr sermon. It seemed to produce the desired effect because Derek stopped dead where he was pacing.

“What?” Derek asked like he didn’t have enhanced senses, like he hadn’t Stiles loud and clear.

“I said, I can’t lose you, Derek,” Stiles whispered knowing how his heart beat steadily and for once being glad about it, “I just got you…”

“Stiles-” and now it sounded like Derek was getting a little choked up which was exactly what Stiles had been aiming for. Call it manipulative all you want but he wasn’t going to let Derek do this to them. He was _not_.

“You can’t do this to me,” he continued, letting the desperation he felt show on his face. It wasn’t easy, after years of hiding, of putting up a front of being fine. But it was the only way to get Derek to _see_.

“I’m not trying to- to make this worse,” Derek whispered back, almost as if he was pleading with Stiles to just understand. But Stiles wasn’t willing to do that for him this time. He had filled in the gaps of what Derek wasn’t saying for years but sabotaging himself wasn’t in the cards anymore. He had grown out of it by now. 

“So, you think, I’m going to be better off without you? Is that it? Because you’re wrong about that, Derek. I can’t- you don’t know what you’re taking away from me if you do this.”

And he looked it too. Stiles realised, Derek truly didn’t have the faintest clue of how deeply, how irrevocably Stiles was in love with him. The realisation should have saddened him but in reality, it spurred him on to make Derek _understand_.

“I never thought, I could have this, you know?” he said, feeling the dull ache in his stomach expand towards his chest, “that you would ever look at me like this- that anyone would think I was worthy of being looked at in that way. People don’t- they think I’m annoying and loud and obnoxious but you- Derek-” his exhale came out shaky, “you made me believe that you were actually _looking_ at _me_ \- and I can’t-” his voice broke, “I can’t lose you- please- _please_ don’t do this to me…”

It occurred to him, while he had been trying to convince Derek to stay, that this had gotten too real, that he was being vulnerable in a way, he couldn’t entirely deal with. Derek didn’t seem to know what to say either. He kept staring at Stiles like he hadn’t really seen him before. Maybe, Stiles thought, he hadn’t. Maybe Derek – just like Stiles – had believed up to this point, that Stiles wasn’t as invested, that Stiles could still bow out.

“I’m sorry,” Derek finally croaked, standing there with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “I’m so sorry, Stiles.” Stiles’ heart contracted painfully in his chest, making him press a hand against it, hoping to soothe, to calm himself. 

“Don’t say it like that,” Stiles pleaded, “don’t say it like you’re leaving…”

He couldn’t. If this was Derek’s way of saying goodbye, he couldn’t do this.

But it seemed, he wouldn’t have to. Because in the next second, Derek crossed the room then, in three large steps, and scooped Stiles up in his arms almost crushing him.

“I’m not- God, Stiles- I’m not,” he ground out, keeping Stiles’ face in between his hands, “I’m not leaving- I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to make you feel like this, okay? I promise- I just thought, you were better off…”

“No,” Stiles protested, seeing his own fear reflected back at him in Derek’s impossibly green eyes.

“I know-” Derek said, hesitated, “I didn’t understand but now I do- and I’m not leaving, I promise.” Stiles felt his entire body sag in relief once his brain had made sense of what Derek was saying. His eyes filled with tears he didn’t want to shed and he bit his lip to keep them from falling.

“I want to kiss you- can I kiss you?” Derek asked, sounding breathless, like a man starving for oxygen. Stiles nodded frantically, unable to use words. They crashed together without knowing which of them had moved first. Stiles tasted blood, wasn’t sure if it was his own or Derek’s, didn’t feel like he cared.

“Derek-” he had no idea what he had wanted to say or why it mattered but that was the second Derek’s hand slipped under his shirt and every rational thought left his head. His fingers spasmed where they held onto Derek’s biceps, his neck. Derek made a sound, awfully close to a mewl and pressed Stiles against him. Almost unconsciously, he spread his legs a bit, let Derek step between them. He could feel Derek’s erection against his thigh, itched to undo Derek’s jeans and jerk him off. 

“As disgustingly sweet as this display of true love was-” They jumped apart, Stiles breathing hard, nostrils flared. Neither of them had heard Peter come up the stairs, open the door or close it for that matter. Perhaps, Stiles should have felt embarrassed but his emotional competence was needed in order not to bash Peter’s stupid head in for interrupting him.

“I believe we have a pack of demons to hunt.” And of course, he was right but did it have to be right now? Stiles was getting whiplash from the start and stop system of the last hours. Demon hunt, Derek’s martyr speech, heavy make out session. Couldn’t he catch a goddamn break for once?

The answer to that, was of course, a solid no.

He breathed in, trying to calm himself and get those fangs which had popped out, back under control. That was when the scent hit him square in the face. The smell of their combined arousal was so heavy in the air that it threatened to suffocate him. Derek looked like he was in a similar condition, resolutely breathing through his mouth. Stiles could have sworn then and there, he had never smelled anything sweeter than Derek’s want for him. Then, his eyes caught sight of Peter again and he couldn’t help the snarl making it past his lips.

Because seriously-

Where did he always come from? And why didn’t he just go back there and leave them be, for fuck’s sake. Moment ruined, Stiles de-plastered himself from Derek, standing a bit wobbly on his feet.

* * *

Despite their best efforts, the other demons had disappeared from sight the second the pack had killed the girl at the mall. Derek refused to trust the peace. He had learned long ago that this kind of silence was rarely followed by anything but utter mayhem. He could almost taste it in the air when he went for a run in the preserve. After his conversation with Stiles, he had needed to breathe something else, something less agitating.

Because Stiles’ scent mixed with his own in that way did things to Derek, he hadn’t felt for a long time. He wasn’t sure if he could indulge in those feelings, all those traumas and memories rearing their ugly heads. Not long after leaving the house, he heard a familiar howl a few trees away. He dashed towards it and found Boyd, fully wolfed out and waiting for him.

He would never admit it, mostly because he would never hear the end of it if Erica found out, but Boyd was indeed his favourite. Mostly, because the guy was so quiet, never pushed, never argued with Derek when he couldn’t deal. Like now. Sure, touching Stiles like this, kissing him had been utterly mind blowing but the dark side of it was too dark for even him to handle. He constantly felt like there was something wrong with him for being so careful, so afraid of intimacy. That maybe, Stiles would figure out, he was damaged beyond repair and would move on. Derek would shatter, should that happen and Boyd seemed to understand. He ran with Derek for the better part of an hour, following where he led without complaint. The silence between them wasn’t loaded with words unspoken but rather comfortable, calming.

When he stopped, breathing hard through his nose, he saw Boyd leaning against a tree, arms crossed.

“What happened?” he asked, having picked up on the agitation inside Derek. That was another reason, why he liked Boyd. Because he asked but only after giving Derek the time to collect himself and work it out. In those moments, when he felt most vulnerable, he couldn’t deal with being bombarded like Erica did sometimes.

“I talked to Stiles.” Boyd nodded like that made all the sense in the world. Derek supposed it was his tone or the fact that he had needed this run. Boyd had probably put it together himself.

“I tried to break up with him.” The flicker of surprise on Boyd’s face was quickly replaced by worry.

“Didn’t work.”

“Didn’t work?”

“He didn’t let me.” This time, the nod was accompanied by an amused uptick of Boyd’s mouth which Derek could absolutely get behind. This was just Stiles in a nutshell, wasn’t it? 

“I thought-” he had to start again when he realised how close he had come to actually breaking up with Stiles, how if Stiles were anybody else, this would have worked.

“I thought, it was for the best.”

“Why?”

“Because he gets hurt.”

“He does that anyway,” Boyd said with a shrug. 

“I know.” God, did he ever. Of course, Stiles got hurt but there were days when the voice in Derek’s head got too loud. The one that told him that he was putting Stiles in danger by being with him, the voice that knew his deepest secrets. 

“But you’re not broken up now?” Boyd inquired softly. He had his head inclined like he knew Derek would take a long time to answer.

“No,” he finally ground out. 

“You’re not happy?” 

“I am- I just-”

“Stiles is a fox,” Boyd continued, without waiting for Derek to come up with an explanation that didn’t make sense even to him, “and a Spark. If something comes for him, it won’t know what hit it.”

“I still worry.”

He interpreted Boyd’s shrug as something along the lines of “of course you do” which he supposed was true. They went back to the house then, walking slowly side by side. In Derek’s head, there was still a turmoil raging inside him. He just didn’t know how to talk about it, how to even bring up the point that made it so hard to be with Stiles. Because Stiles deserved better than this constant and stupid stop and go. 

“What else?” Boyd asked about ten minutes before they would have reached the house. It was the last chance to get it off his chest before walking into the house. The house, where Isaac would be waiting with a cherub grin and a demand for dinner. Cooked by Derek of course because Erica had snitched on him and now the pack knew, he could actually cook. And cook well for that matter.

“He wants me,” Derek whispered, making it sound like such a burden when it was anything but. He enjoyed the way Stiles lit up when Derek touched him. It made him feel wanted, like this was real and tangible proof of Stiles’ feelings towards him. The problem was just that Stiles needed his touch, that he yearned for it and Derek knew that. He wanted to give Stiles all that, wanted to show him, how much Derek wanted him back, how he desired him but reaching that level of intimacy was hard after what he had been through. Touches would feel good one minute and repulsive the next. Not because Stiles was doing something wrong but because there was still doubt there, in Derek’s mind. If he closed his eyes, couldn’t see Stiles’ face anymore, the fingers working on his belt became less gentle, less loving. The kisses turned sour, nails scraped down his sides, far too long to be male.

“You should explain it to him,” Boyd said without having to ask why Derek had a problem with Stiles wanting him.

“Explain what?”

“That it isn’t about him,” he heard Boyd heave a sigh before he elaborated, “if you don’t, he’ll think it’s because he’s undesirable.”

“What-” Derek ground out, suddenly angry at the prospect of Stiles thinking that. He knew, though, that Boyd was right. After all those years of being told, he wasn’t wanted, Stiles needed reassurance that this was not the case. It didn’t matter that Derek had told him, he found him attractive. Words alone wouldn’t carry this relationship forever. That was part of the problem. What if their time ran out before Derek got over his issues? What if Stiles’ own insecurities kept nagging at him until he was back where Derek had seen him when Lydia had chosen Jackson?

Derek remembered countless tales featuring Stiles not being invited somewhere, being told “thanks but no thanks”, being pranked at a date, continuously being told he wasn’t good enough or attractive but obnoxious and not worth any effort.

“What do I say?” he asked tentatively, barely able to look at Boyd when the question hung between them so loudly.

“The truth,” Boyd suggested with a shrug before falling into motion again.

The truth. 

_Alright.  
_

That couldn’t be too hard now, could it?

* * *

He should have researched more, should have been working his ass off to find out all he could about those demons. But tonight, only tonight, he had relegated his duties to Lydia. It was just that he needed a night off. Just one night.

The talk with Derek and his reasons for breaking up with Stiles had hit too close to home for comfort. He had a feeling that this wouldn’t be the last attempt at breaking up, that Derek would continue to do this because he got scared so easily. And that wasn’t something Stiles could blame him for. He understood how hard it was for Derek to trust, Stiles could hold his own. Hell, he had had his fair share of doubts too especially when Derek was concerned.

But he knew, Derek would be in danger either way. He was a born wolf, an Alpha with a full shift for heaven’s sake. People would always and had always come for him. Their relationship wouldn’t change that. But Stiles knew, to Derek, his being with Stiles put a target on Stiles’ back bigger than the state of California. Not that he was wrong about that either. Stiles was sure, hunters would come for him too, in order for Derek to break. But to Stiles, there was no question whether it was worth it. If he could have Derek, he would take whatever the universe wanted to throw at him.

Still, what he needed right now, was to talk. The result of that was a couch full of wolves and a bowl full of sweets.

“Get on with it, Stilinski. I don’t have all day.” Jackson. Of course, brass as ever. Unfortunately, the asshole had made it the transfer to Stiles’ friends list a few years back and now he was stuck with him.

Maybe that was the reason why Stiles blurted it out the way he did. After all, he could always blame it on Jackson’s impatience.

“Derek wanted to break up with me.”

The utter shock on all three of them was, needless to say, the most reassuring thing Stiles had seen all day. It made that last bit of doubt in him settle somewhat, knowing they thought it incredulous that Derek would break up with Stiles.

“What?” Isaac was the first to ask with a voice that sounded like he would have liked to add a _you-better-not-be-serious_.

“I don’t know what went wrong but- when we came back from the mall he was so- I don’t know- he was odd…”

“Odd how?”

“Nervous,” Stiles finally decided on, his pulse starting to race when he recapitulated how it had felt walking in with Derek in this kind of mood. His stomach did a funny little flip at what had come next.

“And?” Isaac urged him on and it occurred to Stiles that Isaac, too, was nervous. Probably because he had been so vocal in telling Stiles to make a move on Derek and was now possibly feeling guilty about it. Stiles shook off the memories before they could take hold of him.

 _Crisis averted_ , he forced himself to think, _it’s all good_.

“Told me, he didn’t love me, that this wasn’t working and he wanted out.” The pain remained where it was, nicely stuck to his chest area. He couldn’t say the words without a wave of hurt washing over him despite Derek taking it back minutes later.

Meanwhile, he hadn’t realised that Jackson was half-way out of his seat, fangs elongated and claws out.

“What-”

“Asshole!” Jackson snarled while Isaac tried pulling him back down on the couch, “let go of me, Lahey or I’ll break your fucking arm!”

Realising, Stiles needed to get this under control and fast, he jumped up too, pressing a hand against Jackson’s chest. He noticed, how hard his friend was breathing, how outraged he was at the idea of what Derek had done. Stiles hid his smile by biting the inside of his cheek. 

“He didn’t go through with it,” he said watching the anger bleed out of Jackson like it had never welled up in the first place.

“He better not,” Jackson growled before sitting down and crossing his arms over his chest.

“If he didn’t, why are we here?” Isaac asked the question of all questions. And suddenly, there it was, the crux of the issues. The real reason why Stiles had needed them here. Because a bit of that fear lingered, refused to be shaken off even after Derek had backed down. The next threat wasn’t far away, like they all knew. What if Derek decided, this time, he would do it just to keep Stiles safe? 

“What if-” he had to clear his throat before continuing, that stupid gulp of fear blocking his lungs, “what if he decides to break up the next time I get hurt?” 

Isaac latched onto the end of his sentence, asking “Is that what it was about?”

Stiles nodded, feeling miserable at the thought of Derek changing his mind. At the same time, he didn’t want to accuse Derek of something he hadn’t yet done. But the uncertainty, the maybe hanging in the air, bothered him. 

Scott hadn’t talked at all up to this point. But now, he leaned forward and said “but he loves you.” The room instantly turned silent with three pairs of eyes staring at Stiles in the most scrutinising fashion.

“He does,” Isaac backed up Scott, nodding along. Jackson moved a shoulder like he wanted to agree but didn’t feel like giving Scott the power of actually saying he was right.

“You should talk to him,” Isaac suggested, “tell him how you’re afraid, he’ll change his mind.” Stiles wasn’t sure if he could, if that was even allowed. To ask a partner for constant reassurance didn’t sound like something anyone would want to do long term. But Stiles also knew, he desperately needed it. Maybe it was the times he had been beaten down and told he wasn’t worth a second thought much less a date, but the marvel of Derek liking him back didn’t change the past.

“He’ll understand,” Scott promised with too much confidence. Stiles’ ears picked up on the slight elevation of his heart beat but he didn’t call him out.

Talk.

Right.

How hard could that be?

* * *

For the better part of an hour, Stiles contemplated calling Derek. Each time, he chickened out before he could press the call button. It shouldn’t be like that, he realised with dread. He shouldn’t be scared to call his boyfriend.

He supposed, he wanted to remain in this bubble of _everything-is-all-right_ for a bit longer before having to go head to head with reality. The universe had taught him that the second he had something good, it would be ripped away by a moment’s notice, so now, he found himself a little apprehensive.

“Son?” Stiles wasn’t proud to admit that amidst his pondering, he hadn’t even heard his dad’s footsteps until he was standing in Stiles’ room. There was a worried lift to his dad’s brow and a curl to his lips Stiles knew meant trouble.

And with the next sentence, he also realised how utterly predictable he had become.

Because his father didn’t beat around the bush and simply asked “What did Derek do?”

The denial was on the tip of his tongue but the openness in his dad’s eyes made him reconsider. 

“He’s scared, being with me will get me hurt.” 

To his surprise, his dead snorted.

“What else is new?”

“What?”

“He has been doing that for the last five years. At least, as far as I can tell.”

_Okay no. Stiles could not- what- no. This was not-_

“But- we only got together like a few weeks ago.”

“Doesn’t mean, he didn’t have feelings before that,” his dad said, eyebrow raised as if to say: _you_ had.

“But I can heal now.”

“And you’ll be hunted now,” his father countered, “because you’re like them now.” 

“Don’t say it like that,” he pleaded, hating the way his mind instantly showed him all the wrong connotations. 

“Like what?”

“Like it’s a bad thing.”

“I’m not,” his dad reassured and sounded sincere, “but it makes you a target. You’re not just a boy who runs with the wolves. Hunters know the difference.”

“Dad…” He didn’t want to see sense in what Derek had said. And he certainly didn’t want to confront the real possibility of being hunted by those monsters. Not now. Not with those demons on the loose and all these other apocalyptic things that kept happening.

“That’s what Derek sees when he looks at you,” his dad elaborated wisely like he had a standing connection to the wires of Derek’s brain.

“A target?”

His dad nodded. “A bright red one.”

“So what? We just break up because it’s safer this way?”

“What? Who said anything about breaking up?” The confusion, at least, managed to relax Stiles a little, like it had with the boys before. But even his dad’s incredulity didn’t erase his doubts, just simmered it down. 

When Stiles refused to speak, suddenly realising what he had just admitted to, his dad’s voice changed.

“Stiles?”

“He wanted to break up with me because he felt like I would be in less danger that way.” For a few minutes, they were both silent. Then, his father rolled his eyes, almost as dramatically as Stiles did. 

“I always knew, he was an idiot but he surpassed even my expectations.” Stiles sat on his bed, mouth hanging open once his brain processed the words which had just come out of his father’s mouth.

“You call that boy and you tell him that being in a relationship with you is not what will make you get hurt,” he paused and Stiles heard how his heart beat picked up in tempo.

“They’ll come for you whether you are with Derek or not. Actually, I think especially, if they think you are not because that would make you an easy target without the Alpha attached to you.”

“He doesn’t see it that way.”

“Then convince him,” his dad said with a smirk, “or aren’t you my son?”

Stiles nodded, feeling the corners of his mouth lift in an answering smirk.

“And if he doesn’t come to his senses, tell him that Chris provided me with an arsenal of wolfsbane bullets and that I could use a bit of target practise.” With that, his father walked out of the room, calm as you please, leaving Stiles confused, amused and a myriad of other things ending with -ed. 

* * *

The rest of the evening, Derek had spent restlessly pacing up and down the stairs. That is until Isaac had come home, smelling like Scott and Jackson and, most importantly, Stiles. Derek’s senses went into overload the second, he smelled Stiles on someone else’s clothes. Isaac must have realised his inner turmoil because he rolled his eyes.

“You two seriously need to talk,” was what he was instantly greeted with, accompanied by an exasperated huff.

“What-” Derek didn’t even fully formulate the question before Isaac had reached him, stabbing his chest with his finger.

“You upset him!” Isaac accused before storming past him offering no further explanation. Derek remained frozen on the stairs, white knuckling the railing. It hadn’t been his intention to upset Stiles. Far from it. But somehow, they always found themselves here. He contemplated driving over to the Stilinski household, but ultimately decided against it when he caught sight of the clock.

His phone vibrated in his back pocket just then. Derek had half a mind not to answer when the name flashed on the screen.

“Stiles?” 

“Derek- hi-” even over the phone, Derek could tell, Isaac was right. Stiles _was_ upset.

“What’s wrong?” he asked when it became clear, Stiles needed a bit of a push.

“Fuck,” he heard Stiles breathe out, “I didn’t think this would be so difficult to do over the phone.” For a brief second, Derek’s heart set out completely. What if this was Stiles telling him that they didn’t work? What if Derek had really fucked it up beyond repair?

Stiles, oblivious to Derek’s impending mental break down, continued to talk. “I get why you’re worried, okay?”

Derek seriously doubted it. Mostly because the only thing he was worried about right now was to hear Stiles say, he was done with Derek.

“I know that hunters are going to come for me too but Derek- you have to- you must know that they’ll do that regardless- whether I’m with you or not.”

Sometime in between, it occurred to Derek that they were not having the conversation he had thought they were having. The vices around his heart dissipated in an instant.

“And I can’t-” Stiles took a very deep breath on the other end that sounded too shaky for Derek’s comfort, “I can’t go through this every time something comes into town looking for us.”

Still, Derek didn’t say a word, processing what Stiles was and what he wasn’t saying.

“Derek? Der- are you-”

“I’m here,” he ground out, “I’m here, Stiles.”

“Thought you’d hung up on me by now,” Stiles chuckled but Derek could tell it was mostly caused by nerves.

“I wouldn’t hang up on you,” he said, hoping Stiles would believe him.

“Okay…” Stiles trailed off, probably scratching his head because he was so uncomfortable. The visual was all Derek needed to be kicked into gear.

“Stiles, I-” he took a moment to collect himself, breathed in and said “I talked to Boyd.”

“That’s- that’s good,” was Stiles’ answer, albeit a bit hesitant like he didn’t know where Derek was going with this. 

“I didn’t realise- I never thought about it like that.”

“And?”

“And you’re right.”

“I am?”

“Yes,” he let himself chuckle before getting serious again, “I just wanted to keep you safe.”

“And I get that, Derek- okay? I do. But I can’t- it’s not easy for me to just take your word for it and let it go that you wanted to break up with me because of that,” he heard how Stiles walked up and down in his room, too slow to be pacing, too fast for settled, “it made me feel- it made me feel inadequate, like this would happen every time I get hurt and I can’t do it like this. I have to- I have to know that you won’t leave me because of this or I’ll go mad. Because- Derek- because it hurts to think you could just up and leave like that.”

“I won’t,” Derek instantly promised, “I won’t- Stiles, I told you-”

“Yeah but what if- what if the next hunter comes into town and they kidnap me? Would you change your mind then?”

“No.”

“But-”

“No, Stiles,” Derek said with as much determination and honesty as he could muster, “I wouldn’t. Because you’re right. They’ll come for you regardless.” He wanted to add “and you’re safer with me around” but he knew, that wasn’t the case. The smell of smoke and ashes burned on his nostrils for a second. 

“Promise me,” Stiles whispered like he didn’t want to ask. And Derek understood how much it cost him to admit to those insecurities, how much it meant for Derek to be considered important enough to hear them. Stiles always joked about it, laughed at his own fears but when asked, he shut down. There were only a few people, some rare instances, when Stiles had opened up about those nasty, dark thoughts he carried with him each day. 

“I promise,” Derek said and meant it with all his heart. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Not after he had seen what it would do, what it would cost. He was willing to risk his own happiness for Stiles’ safety. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to risk Stiles’ happiness.

Not for anything in the world.

* * *

“Soooo, we’re on the same page?” Stiles asked and hated himself for being so obviously needy.

“Yes,” Derek reassured him for what felt like the hundredth time. The confirmation finally stopped the pacing Stiles had indulged in over the last fifteen minutes. He was about to switch the conversation to something lighter, less dangerous when he heard Derek breathe in like he wanted to say something.

“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” Derek finally said after a few minutes of tense silence.

“Okay?” Stiles braced himself, despite having heard Derek confirm, he wasn’t about to be broken up with. Again.

“I don’t want to have sex.”

There was a sudden beeping tone in Stiles’ brain that drowned out everything else. His mind came up with a million and one reasons why Derek had just said what he had said. And none of them were in Stiles’ favour. Derek probably didn’t find him attractive. Or he didn’t swing that way. Or maybe-

“That came out wrong,” Derek interrupted his constant stream of self-belittling.

“I didn’t mean- I don’t mean ever, I just- when we kissed today I got- I got-” but what he had gotten, Stiles wouldn’t find out because Derek stopped right there before Stiles heard something break.

“Derek are you okay? What just-”

“Railing,” Derek ground out, “I broke the railing.”

“You broke- why did you break the railing?” It was so absurd, Stiles was shaken out of his self-deprecating thoughts in an instant. 

“Because I’m saying this all wrong because I’m no good with words.” The “unlike you” hung unspoken in the air. Stiles didn’t know what to do with any of this. But he forced himself to let Derek hash it out. Too many times his quick reactions had made Stiles misunderstand and he wanted to be privy to the details before he allowed the hurt to spread through his body again. 

“What I’m trying to say is that-” another deep breath and then Derek hurried on to say “that being intimate like that scares me.”

“We don’t have to have sex!” Stiles instantly blurted out when Derek was finished. His voice was filled with so much relief, he almost imagined he heard Derek chuckle.

“I need you to understand that it’s not because of you,” Derek continued, like he knew exactly what Stiles had been thinking, “it’s not you, okay? I just need- I need to work through that.”

“With me?”

“What?”

“Do you want to work through that with me?” Stiles clarified, feeling confidence surge through him in a capacity he had seldomly experienced before. 

“Do you- do you want to?”

“I asked first.” Not because he wanted to be difficult but because he needed Derek to decide this on his own. This couldn’t be because he wanted to please Stiles. It _had_ to come from him. 

“I don’t want to put that on you,” Derek hedged. Stiles almost rolled his eyes. Always with the consideration of other people’s feelings. Then again, this was Derek.

 _His_ Derek.

“You’re not,” he stated, hoping to convey through the phone that he meant it, “I’m offering.”

Derek didn’t even pause. “Then yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Finally, Stiles allowed a small smile to spread on his lips, sensing that the danger of heart break had passed. 

“Stiles?” 

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for that, Sourwolf,” Stiles whispered feeling elated and beyond relieved at the same time.

“Still…” Derek whispered back.

* * *

Stiles’ phone rang in the middle of the night. He wasn’t proud to admit to having sat up so fast, he had not only hit his head on the damned head board but had also fallen out of bed in his haste to get to the phone. Tangled sheets made for lousy footwear.

“Whasss wrong?” he lulled into the receiver once he had gotten hold of his bearings and was back from his upside-down detour on the ground.

“I’m coming over,” he heard Lydia snap on the other end before she hung up on him. Stiles put down the phone, rubbed his face and instantly cursed when his hand came back bloody. He stumbled towards the bathroom when he realised, he was a werefox and the cut was likely healed already.

Stiles busied himself playing Mario Cart until he heard Lydia’s car pull up in the drive way. To be fair, he didn’t actually know, it was Lydia’s car but by process of elimination and considering it was 3am, options were rather limited. Unmistakable, though, was the clicking of Lydia’s heels on his veranda and the sharp knock of her hand he was so used to. He was at the door in the span of seconds, wanting to get this over with and much too tired to care about manners.

Lydia shoved a book at him, looking worse for wear and not like herself at all. His conscience made it a point to yell at him until she was seated on his bed with a tea in one hand and her favourite candy bar in another. This was, after all, his fault, her staying up late and researching.

“What’s going on, Lyds?” he asked softly, not wanting to give her any reason to lash out. The glimmer in her eyes told him, he was one second away from biting his head off as it was. 

“We screwed up,” was what she said once she had taken, both, a breath and a gulp of tea.

“What are you saying?” he asked maybe unnecessarily but his brain wasn’t online yet and he couldn’t keep up with her when he didn’t have all the information.

“I’m saying, we made a mistake,” Lydia repeated, calm as you please while Stiles still got the feeling, this was all a façade. He could smell her anxiety when she threw her hair over her shoulder, saw how her eye twitched when admitting to a mistake that might have cost lives. 

“What do you mean?” He tried not to agitate her any further but the question needed an answer. Otherwise, they were not getting anywhere. 

“I mean that as soon as we knew what they were, we went after them.”

“So?”

“So what do you know about demons?”

“Not much?”

She gave him a look that transferred to “here you go” like that was supposed to make him understand what she was on about.

“I still don’t get it,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. If she wanted him to get the hint, she would have to spit out the details first. 

Lydia sighed, like it was such a chore but then she gripped a heavy looking book with torn edges and plopped it down on his lap.

“Read that.”

He did. And his insides contracted violently the second, his brain made the connection.

“Fuck,” he breathed, fingers gripping the book hard at the edges. 

“Precisely.”

“This is- Lyds this is not good.”

Lydia laughed but it held no humour.

“Not good is a slight understatement, don’t you think?” By the glint in her eyes and the uptick of his heart beat, Stiles could answer his own question without having to wait for her to actually answer.

“We need to tell the others. Now. We need a pack meeting,” Lydia said, voice tight with panic flittering over her expression. And while Stiles agreed, it was three in the morning and they needed their rest. Especially if Lydia was right. 

And wasn’t she ever?

* * *

Evidently, Derek was on edge. Stiles noticed the second, he stepped inside the house. Nerves. Anxiety. All but full-blown panic tinted the air inside the house. Isaac came down the stairs looking adorable as ever, yawning behind his hand.

“What’s going on?” he asked while shuffling towards the kitchen.

Stiles decided, this was his moment to announce not just to Isaac but Derek and the rest of the pack who were piling in behind him that “we have a problem.”

After that, and after Erica and Boyd serving breakfast for all of them, the pack sat down on the various couches and pillows Derek had been bullied into buying by Lydia almost a year ago to this day.

“I figured, the more information, the better, so, I started to look for specifics,” Lydia started her explanation, scooting a little closer to Jackson while she searched for her book. Peter nodded his head in what Stiles interpreted as a “good job” or any level of praise Peter was capable of.

“And then I realised that we should have considered the lore about demons before going after them.”

“Which says?” Erica jumped on that, always eager to know about an opponent’s weakness. Only if it were that simple. Lydia seemed to think the same because she sighed deep and concerned. Stiles noticed how she kept fiddling with the hem of her shirt before the scent of anxiety reached him. Derek threw him a look, like he had smelled it too.

“Demons are tricky. They aren’t like incubus or wendigo. You can’t just use demon as an umbrella term and be done with it.”

Apparently, that came as a great surprise to the rest of the pack because Stiles saw a variety from incredulousness to outright shock on their faces. Only Peter looked vaguely familiar with this new information. And of course he did. 

_Freaking creeper wolf._

“The term demon only refers to their source of power. They are fallen angels.”

“Which means that their official power bank sits way down below,” Stiles said pointing vehemently downwards.

“So?” Scott asked in a similar fashion to Stiles’ own reaction. He wasn’t proud to say how long it had taken for him to clue in so he couldn’t be mad at Scott for not piecing it together either.

“So,” Lydia said, stretching the o “what we should have done was research who our demons are.”

“ _Who_ they are?” Jackson’s eyes were almost bulging out of his head, probably because it really sounded absurd when you didn’t have the insight Lydia and Stiles had.

Oh, and apparently Peter. 

Stiles leaned forward in his seat then, ready to take over and spare Lydia from having to give the same talk she had give him. Her tolerance for slow minds was exceptionally low today as it was.

“There are no two identical demons. Each one of them has a name and powers and a specific symbol.”

“The scars,” Isaac piped up, sounding somewhere between scared and enlightened. 

“Right,” Stiles nodded, “if we figure out which demon they are, we can figure out their powers beforehand.”

“Which will give us the upper hand,” Erica said, grinning madly and cracking her knuckles. Stiles shook his head fondly. Always so eager to kick some ass, his Catwoman.

“Lydia figured out that the first one should have been Adnachiel, which is a hunter demon.” He caught Allison’s eye and saw some semblance of pride there at having called it without even knowing how spot on she had been.

“Have you got the others pinned down too?” Boyd wanted to know, arms wound around Erica’s torso in a sweet embrace.

Lydia’s smile turned sour.

“One,” she said.

* * *

The pack did their best to assemble both knowledge and weapons before another attack launched. Stiles watched Allison sharpen her arrow tips and Lydia load her gun. Peter still insisted, they would attack separately because that would cause the most damage and minimise the risk of them being taken out all at once.

While the others prepared for battle, eyeing their phones like one of them would ring any second now, Stiles worked it over in his head. He just didn’t understand why they were even here. Or what they were doing. It didn’t make sense.

“Stiles?” He turned around at the call of his name.

“Hm?”

“Claws,” Boyd simply said and returned to his seat. Stiles hadn’t even realised, he had been cutting into his own hands. He supposed, it was the stress finally taking a toll on him.

“Careful,” Derek suddenly piped up from behind him. Stiles whirled around, almost smacking Derek in the face with his elbow. His face heated. Even with enhanced senses, he was still so pathetically clumsy. Derek, though, didn’t seem to care and simply took hold of his hand.

“It healed already,” Stiles got out, not entirely unaffected by their proximity. He didn’t want to overwhelm Derek though, so he kept his thoughts to himself. Sometimes, he just wished, they had time to actually be together without the universe wanting to collapse at a moment’s notice.

“It’s going to be fine,” Derek assured him like he had read his mind.

“You think?”

“I hope.”

* * *

The call came around noon. Derek had been anxious about it, having hated the waiting game for all his life, but when it did, he wished it back. Knowing the destruction those beasts had brought was not something he could unlearn. The bodies were piling up under their feet.

This time, the demons had chosen three new spots as their playgrounds. One was wreaking havoc in a grocery store, one at the community college and one in a church of all places. How that was even possible, Derek didn’t want to think about. 

Chris was the one who briefed them quickly before they left the house. They had decided to go with the demon Lydia had identified as Camael, fallen angel of war. That sounded much too powerful for Derek’s liking but he was the Alpha and he would not cower.

Be it demon, wendigo or hunter.

* * *

“Dad? Dad, we’re on the way so stay out of it!” Stiles yelled into his phone while Derek hit the gas of the Camaro for all it was worth. After hitting a particularly vicious corner with double the speed allowed, the phone went flying.

“No!” Stiles snapped, “get them to leave!” His dad protested a little more before finally seeing sense but only after Derek had assured him, his presence would do more harm than good. 

“Ten bodies in total,” Stiles got out, holding on for dear life. Derek drove even faster. In the rear-view mirror, Stiles saw how the others accelerated too.

“Repeat it back to me?” Derek asked him through clenched teeth, probably to calm himself and keep the eyes on the prize. Which, in their fucked-up case, was beheading a demon.

“Camael. Fallen angel of war. Brings about the apocalypse. Can turn people against each other.” 

Derek nodded and cut another corner, running over a red light.

“Five minutes,” Stiles said just to have something to say.

Another nod, another red light.

* * *

The Camaro screeched to a halt and Derek was out of his seat before Stiles had even unbuckled his seat belt. He could already hear screaming and wanted desperately to cover his ears. Stiles’ hand was on his shoulder, suddenly, and the cars of the others piled into the parking lot.

“Right,” Scott stepped up, eyes already glowing while Derek fought to get his breathing back under control. Aggression wouldn’t help in this case.

“Everyone got their rosary?” Lydia double checked despite having done so at the house already. After receiving a nod from everyone in the pack, they each grabbed their weapons and walked towards the front entrance. 

“It shouldn’t be able to manipulate us with these on,” Stiles had said back there in relation to the rosary.

Derek hoped, he was right, that even if it technically shouldn’t work, Stiles believing it would, could change their fate. In his jeans, he carried a flask with holy water which reminded him with every step of the madness they were about to walk into.

The sight which greeted him made him want to push Stiles back out of the door. He had almost stepped onto the severed head of a security guard.

“Stay low,” Boyd whispered from the far end of the lobby. Derek was instantly grateful for his enhanced senses. Their voices travelled but they were still too quiet to be heard by human ears. He just prayed, demons didn’t have wolf hearing.

The absolute absence of chaos made his fear that this was all a massive trap spike up a notch. Stiles was on his side, sniffing the air for sulphur every few seconds. Derek smelled it too but couldn’t pinpoint where it had gone to, where it was strongest. It was like a tornado of demonic power had whirled through the store, leaving destruction in its wake. 

“Here,” Isaac hissed, holding up a phone. Before Derek could reprimand him, Stiles had dashed over, leaving his side. Not that he wasn’t allowed to that, Derek simply didn’t like it.

“Holy shit,” he heard Stiles curse and let curiosity get the best of him. What he saw on the phone of one of the unfortunate people shopping here when the demon had come was gut wrenching.

The demon, half woman half beast, had snapped her fingers and in an instant, the people had turned on each other, eyes empty, void of anything that made them human. The owner of the phone hadn’t gotten far, losing the phone while running towards the exit. That was why the camera had recorded how the guy, not older than Isaac, had gotten caught by one of those zombie-like existences. He had been dragged back before the zombie had started to rip him apart, limb by limb, leaving bloody strings of flesh in its wake.

Derek shuddered involuntarily and did a quick head count just to make sure, they were all still here.

“Let’s go,” Scott urged them onward, probably to take their minds of that video. Derek had rarely ever seen something this disgusting or brutal.

It didn’t take long before the smell intensified. Why that was, Derek realised a second later. 

“Ah, you have finally made it. I have been waiting for you,” a shrill voice drawled at them from above. They all lifted their heads, scared of what they would see. The demon, or woman, or whatever it was looked even worse up close than on the video. Derek flinched back despite himself. 

The hair was ripped out of one side of her head with blood coating the skin. She had long teeth and nails with black holes for eyes and greyish skin, showing bones which didn’t fit underneath. Reddish wings expanded behind her back, broken and fractured, like they had been torn by hand. The symbols Stiles had noticed seemed engraved into her very being. The nose was missing and pieces of flesh and muscle.

Instantly, Derek’s brain produced torture devices that could do such damage. He had never been a big believer of the inferno or purgatory but seeing this? This carnage? He didn’t doubt hell’s existence then.

“Let’s play,” the demon shrieked. It was the only warning they got, before the thing dove down like a freaking harpy. The pack scattered, ducked for cover. Derek heard how Jackson howled in pain when that thing ripped his skin with its claws. It didn’t matter that Jackson fought back, stinging with his tail. He was almost completely shifted but the venom didn’t seem to work. Derek dashed forward, backed by Boyd and Erica, when he realised, Jackson’s only weapon was of no use.

Erica reached for the demon’s feet and actually managed to grab her. The demon shrieked again, throwing her off.

“Duck!” Allison yelled from God knew where and fired arrows laced with holy water. One hit its target and the demon went berserk on her instead. Nobody saw what it did but suddenly, Allison fell to her knees, unable to move.

Scott howled.

Isaac screamed. 

Derek refused to let it deter him. He charged at the thing again, avoiding the claws as much as he could. Stiles was suddenly there, cutting through the leather-like skin of the demon.

“You’ll regret that!” The demon snarled and spiralled upwards until she was out of reach.

“Let’s see how you do under my influence!” She lifted her arms, began chanting. Derek felt the spell crawl up his legs, fought to shake it off but didn’t succeed.

“Wait,” Stiles whispered, holding out his hand to stop Derek from moving. That was when Derek realised that it wasn’t working. The spell was trying its hardest to take hold of them but something hindered it. 

The demon seemed to come to the same conclusion and stared at them almost horrified.

“What-”

“Hey bitch!” Stiles interrupted, grinning like a madman. Derek was catapulted back to the last demon and the stint in the bathroom. He didn’t know why Stiles was behaving that way, why he was suddenly so reckless but he found himself frozen, unable to step in and stop him. The demon, enraged by her spell not working, let herself fall, racing towards Stiles with the speed of a torpedo.

“Stiles-” Derek heard Lydia shout. It was almost comical, how it all slowed down to an almost stop. Derek saw something in Stiles’ hand blink, saw Stiles take a miniature step to the left. The demon came barrelling down, missed Stiles by hair.

A loud crash.

Erica shoved him aside. Derek didn’t understand why before he saw the large block of cement that had hit where he had stood. Erica’s arm had been cut by a sharp edge but Boyd was already taking care of it. Meanwhile, Stiles was standing where Derek had left him, breathing hard, nostrils flaring but without a scratch on him. Derek fell into motion, finally racing over there and asserting the damage.

“It’s okay, it’s done,” Stiles kept repeating, mumbling into Derek’s neck because Derek had crushed him into an embrace. 

He still didn’t put it together until he saw the demon’s body slowly melting away where it had collided with the wall. Stiles smirked and wiped the silver blade on his shirt.

“Is it over?” Allison’s voice came through the haze. Derek’s knees almost buckled upon seeing she was upright and talking. Scott and Isaac helped her stand but she quickly shrugged them off.

Stunning spell then, Derek concluded. Probably because the demon hadn’t had time to come up with something creative. 

“Didn’t know silver worked on a demon,” Jackson piped up from where he was trying to pop his shoulder back in. With a horrible crack, he succeeded, probably breaking Lydia’s hand with how hard he was gripping it.

“It doesn’t,” Stiles said, shrugging carelessly like he hadn’t just single-handedly killed the second demon in a row.

“How did you do that?” he asked breathlessly. Inside him a mixture of emotions was bubbling away.

“Do what?” Stiles asked. Despite his heart beat remained steady, Derek didn’t quite believe him. He was too nonchalant, too unconcerned. Something stirred in Derek’s head.

“The time thing,” he tried again to give Stiles an opening but Stiles refused to take it, insisting, he didn’t know what Derek meant.

They climbed in their respective cars, driving back home. This hadn’t even taken two hours. To say Derek was concerned would have been an understatement. He wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth but something wasn’t right here. Not that he would announce it loudly after the fight they had just won but this had all been a bit too easy, hadn’t it? Those were demons and two of them were gone without any retaliation directed at the pack. Nobody was that lucky.

 _Especially_ Derek.

All the way back home, Derek couldn’t shake the feeling that they had all missed something essential.

And that Stiles was the only one who _hadn’t._


	5. PERRARUS: rare & exceptional

> _I think hell is something you carry with you, not somewhere you go to._

After making sure, Allison was well and taken care of, Derek invited Stiles to his house for dinner. They hadn’t had time for a real date yet but he felt, like maybe the universe was granting them one night off to regroup. Jackson went home with Lydia, Scott and Isaac stayed with Allison at the hospital and Erica and Boyd went to their own apartment. Allison called Derek on the way, innocently proclaiming that he should stop worrying and that she was fine.

“Wrinkles don’t suit you, Der,” she said, dimples showing. He knew what that smile meant. Take Stiles home and make the most of it because there’s no telling how much time is left. Meanwhile, Stiles was oddly quiet the entire way. At first, it freaked Derek out because he had never known Stiles of all people to stop talking unless something was very wrong. But today, Stiles seemed content to sit there and stare out of the window. Derek couldn’t detect any signs of stress or panic which made him calm down considerably.

They arrived after a short drive, exhaustion slowly setting in. Derek looked forward to dinner, craving the safety of his house. Stiles appeared to have similar thoughts, linking their hands together in a casual manner. He didn’t seem to realise that the simple touch sent sparks of electricity through him. Briefly, it made him wonder whether that was this spark thing or whether it was just Stiles. 

“What’re ya thinkin’ about, Sourwolf?” Stiles joked, apparently in a very good mood. And why wouldn’t he be? After doing that, saving all of their asses with a flick of his wrist, he had damn good reason.

“You plan on seducing me tonight, Der?” Derek hadn’t in fact planned on that but now, hearing it from Stiles’ mouth, it sounded like a dream. He still didn’t feel ready to take their relationship to the more physical level but kissing- that was another thing entirely. He very much enjoyed kissing Stiles, smelling his arousal, hearing him gasp.

“Dinner?” he croaked out, making a beeline for the kitchen before Stiles could answer. Derek caught the lopsided smirk though and felt his ears heat up.

“Want me to help?” Stiles had entered the kitchen with a saunter much unlike him and was now propped up on the counter. Derek bit his lip, refrained from putting into words what was on his mind. Namely, that all he wanted from Stiles right now was for him to sit there and look pretty. The thought startled him. Why was he being so overly influenced by Stiles’ presence tonight? Was it the aftermath of the battle? Seeing Stiles take down a demon like it was nothing? Was it Stiles’ confidence that had gone through the roof?

“You look like you’re figuring out a math problem,” Stiles had crept up behind Derek and was now essentially plastered to his back. It was an odd reversal of sorts but Derek couldn’t say, he minded. The heat though, radiating from Stiles’ body was slowly driving him mad.

“Let me help,” Stiles breathed right into his ear, making Derek shiver. He didn’t know why this didn’t scare him, why he didn’t have the urge to run screaming for the hills this time. Stiles’ scent burned in his nose like a good whiskey did running down his throat. He found it irresistible, calling to him.

“Cilantro,” Derek ground out, stepping away resolutely. The smell cancelled out the alluring scents Stiles was emitting.

“Derek?” He refused to turn around and face Stiles with his face aflame. There was no reason to get worked up over a few touches.

“Der-” Stiles tried again, sounding like he was farther away from Derek now, “I didn’t mean to- to make you uncomfortable…” The pain and uncertainty in Stiles’ voice broke Derek’s heart. That hadn’t been his intention. He just- he didn’t know how to be _normal_.

“I don’t want normal,” Stiles piped up. Great, he had just said that out loud.

“I want _you_ ,” Stiles said.

“But I can’t-”

“What? Fuck me into the mattress?” Stiles shrugged like it didn’t matter when Derek knew it did, that it _should_. “I know what I signed up for.” Hearing his own fears laid out like it was nothing did things to Derek, he didn’t want to face.

Inadequate.

Flawed. 

Damaged.

Broken toy. 

So many words floated through his brain, he couldn’t grasp one clearly. But they all meant the same to him, had all been told to him by her- by them. And he couldn’t subject Stiles to that. Not when Stiles deserved someone to shower him with touches, to erase that doubt in Stiles’ head that he was wanted and desirable and loved.

“Der- it’s okay,” Stiles laid a careful hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, “I told you that.”

“But I want to,” he confessed through strained breaths. God, he wanted it so badly, to feel Stiles’ skin against his own, drown in their scents mingling. 

His sudden outburst startled Stiles badly enough that he flailed and his hips on the counter.

“And we said we’d work up to that, at your pace, didn’t we?” He felt himself nod like a robot and instantly berated himself for not even managing a verbal answer.

“Let’s just get dinner ready, okay?” Stiles took the knife from him and pushed him aside to continue cutting cilantro. Derek only realised after taking five minutes to calm down that Stiles had deliberately giving him the chance to tap out by pretending to be immersed in his task. 

* * *

It was after dinner, with Stiles safely tucked against the couch cushion, when Derek finally dared to bring up the subject. He had prepared a whole speech in his head but the prospect of actually talking about it, made him uneasy.

So, instead of doing it the right way, he stumbled over his words, starting with “before you freak out-”

“That’s a great way to start a conversation,” Stiles huffed, “you know that’s basically like saying don’t bleed out while you’re bleeding out.”

Derek should have seen this coming, especially after last time. It wasn’t his intention to freak Stiles out, but he didn’t know how else to talk about this. He was quick to reassure, hands held out defensively to show Stiles, he meant no harm.

“I’m not breaking up with you. Stiles- please- relax.” Stiles’ pulse was through the roof, his heart sounded like it was trying to beat out of his chest. Derek genuinely worried, he would lose Stiles to a heart attack one day, despite Stiles being a werefox _and_ a spark. If anyone could die from that condition despite a perfect metabolism and enhanced healing, it would be Stiles. 

“How am I supposed to relax when you’re looking at me like the world just did you wrong again?”

“I’m not- that’s just my face!” 

“No!” Of for heaven’s sake. He really needed to find a way to make Stiles understand that, for Derek, there would never be someone else. Ever. Just, he wasn’t sure if that was the right moment to bring out the marital vows and ring. Not that he had one. _Yet_.

“Stiles, it’s not that okay?” he took a deep breath and said “I just- I need to talk to you about the Spark thing.”

“The Spark thing?”

“Yes.” There it was. Out in the open. 

“What about it?” Stiles asked but Derek noticed a shift in demeanour. Sure, there was the initial relief that Derek wasn’t going to do something stupid again, but then – and that was important – his heart sped up again. Like he knew something Derek didn’t. Like he was about to get caught. It only strengthened Derek’s resolve to hash this out once and for all. He was still the _Alpha_ , damn it. And as much as he was impressed by Stiles’ apparent talent for doing away with demons of the first order, he needed to know what was going on. Or where that talent had come from.

And if it was endangering Stiles.

“That thing you did at the store- with the time stopping? I didn’t know, you could do that,” Derek said, trying for careful and not like he was accusing Stiles here. Which he wasn’t. He just needed to know what was going on because it made him feel like he was missing something. And he had learned to listen to that feeling.

But Stiles shrugged, face a bit flushed and murmured, “I didn’t either.”

“What?”

“I just- look, it’s not like someone handed me a manual on what Spark actually means. Deaton’s been trying to teach me but with all that’s going on it didn’t amount to much and when we were in there, I just- I had a feeling that it would work, so I tried.” He let his arms fall to his sides like it wasn’t a big deal that he had literally stopped time.

“What else?” Derek bit out. He couldn’t help the emotions welling up inside him. Worry, pride fear, anger.

“Not much,” Stiles shrugged again, “the thing with the silver and the rosary was pretty basic.” And he said it just like that. If Derek didn’t know how utterly blind Stiles was to his own strengths, he would have hit him over the head right now.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I wasn’t sure, okay?” Stiles snapped a little harshly. His expression instantly changed to something gentler, but Derek wondered whether something else was going on here. He understood, Stiles was under a lot of stress because of those demons but that didn’t cover it. 

“About what?” he asked cautiously.

“If I could do it again or if it was just coincidence and I didn’t want to…” but what exactly it was, he hadn’t wanted to do, Derek couldn’t make out because Stiles’ voice had gotten so quiet, not even Derek’s ears could pick it up.

“I didn’t catch that,” he said, barely holding onto his sanity here.

Stiles scowled like Derek was being an asshole before saying “I didn’t want to brag.”

“Brag?!” 

He didn’t get a verbal confirmation this time. Not that it was necessary. Derek wanted to- well, he wanted to kiss this idiot for being so damn self-conscious.

“I don’t like it when you keep things from me,” he decided to say instead because that was the important part. 

“I know,” Stiles sighed, face doing something complicated while his tone sounded apologetic, “I’m sorry.”

* * *

The door of the house fell close behind him and Stiles was immediately surrounded by coldness. In an instant, it made him miss Derek’s warmth, the slightly elevated breath against his neck, the squeeze Derek had given instead of “goodbye”. He made it to the Jeep without freezing his balls off but suspected that was courtesy of his new and improved body. The drive home, he turned on the radio so loud, he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. That’s the only thing that helped him make it home without turning around.

Stiles couldn’t believe, Derek hadn’t picked up on it. Even after taking a shower and going to bed, he had to fight the urge to go back and put the cards on the table so to speak. That he didn’t only had one reason. Because he needed his trump card. And if Derek, or anyone else knew, it wouldn’t work.

He hated lying to Derek, was beyond astonished that he even could. But he guessed, being a Spark truly meant that things worked out if only he believed they would. So, he had _believed_ , he could tell Derek a half-truth and get away with it.

The only reason why he didn’t call Derek immediately and beg for forgiveness was that voice in his head insisting it was for the better. Derek could get mad at him after but right now, Stiles was their only trump. Only if all of them new it, chances were, those bitches would get wind of it too and he couldn’t risk that.

It was just- it was just that Stiles felt like the world’ worst boyfriend. Derek didn’t deserve any of it. He had been so tooth-achingly sweet tonight. Stiles had never been treated that way before. Like he _mattered_. And now, he was going to ruin it.

But it was the _only_ way.

The only damn way to _win_.

He _had_ to do this.

On days like this, he desperately wished, they led different lives. Without the danger and the imminent threat of death simmering in the air whenever he so much as breathed.

He wanted to go on dates with Derek and watch him blush because Stiles had said, his potatoes were good. If he got his way, he would move in so that Derek would never have to wake up alone again, would never have to shovel down his breakfast because there was nobody there to talk to. He never wanted Derek to be alone again. But in order for him to be able to make that wish a reality, he would have to keep his mouth shut and his priorities straight.

Tomorrow, he said to himself.

Tomorrow, he would talk to Deaton and it would be alright.

* * *

It wasn’t alright. Not that Stiles hadn’t secretly already anticipated things going south but come on. Did it have to happen so quickly?

Then again, maybe that was his karma, huh?

But to put it all in order, Deaton hadn’t been the problem in this case. Rather the opposite, which should have given Stiles something to think about.

“I trust, you didn’t tell either Scott or Derek.” Spot on. If Scott found out- scratch that, if _Derek_ found out before Stiles could explain it on his own terms…

“It was the right choice,” Deaton said in an unusual soft voice. For some reason, having Deaton on his side only made Stiles feel worse about the whole situation. He had always accused the vet of being deliberately elusive and here he was, doing the exact same thing. 

“I don’t like lying to them,” Stiles mumbled before he could stop himself. 

“I would have worried if you had.” Stiles wasn’t even going to pretend to be annoyed at the comment. What Deaton was saying was actually helping and he soaked it up like a sponge.

“Did you take any more precautions?” 

“Like what?”

There it was, that infuriating know-it-all smile again. Stiles didn’t have time for his hackles to rise because Deaton already continued.

“Like reading the book I let you borrow?”

“I read it.”

“Any thoughts?”

Oh, a hell of a lot of thoughts but he wasn’t sure which to share and which to keep to himself. That part about enhancing stamina was not something he particularly felt like discussing.

Although to be fair, Stiles was fairly sure that the chapter had actually talked about sports and not sex but whaddaya know?

“Seems straight forward to me.”

“It is a matter of focus,” Deaton reminded him, “a matter of confidence too.”

Both of which Stiles had always been desperately short.

“Confidence?” he croaked out, suddenly getting the feeling that this wouldn’t work. If it depended on his being confident in those new abilities no one could actually explain to him, they were doomed.

“You stopped time, you said,” Deaton said kindly, “how did you do that?”

“I- I just-” he didn’t want to admit that he had been sure of himself in that moment. It felt too much like bragging. It seemed, though, that Deaton knew either way.

“You trusted, it would work,” the vet finished his thoughts for him. Stiles nodded, despite the heat dusting his cheeks.

“Remarkable,” he heard Deaton breathe. His gaze snapped up. Never would he have thought to hear that word ascribed to him by Scott’s boss.

Then, after a pause, Deaton asked “Did you try it again?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“There wasn’t any reason.” There had been but Stiles had been too afraid, too insecure to try again. What if it didn’t work? What if he couldn’t do it? What if he wasn’t good enough? 

“We need to ascertain whether it is something you can do deliberately or whether it was caused by your emotional response to danger,” Deaton talked over his own intrusive thoughts, cancelling them out. 

“Sounds logical,” he said, not sounding convinced even to his own ears.

“If you please…” Deaton gestured at the room. It sounded much easier in theory than it was in praxis, it turned out. Stiles flicked his wrist like he had done the day before. He pressed his lips together, balled his fists, yelled into the abyss. Nothing stuck. After fifteen minutes, he realised, it wouldn’t work that way. He had foxed out after 8, his claws now digging into his palms, blood dripping to the floor. Only when he felt his fangs elongate and pearls of sweat on his forehead did Deaton lift a hand to stop him. It took Stiles 2 minutes longer to regain control of himself. He hadn’t even realised that his body had begun shaking.

“It doesn’t-” he pressed out between fangs, “why doesn’t it work?”

“Motivation.”

A questioning look directed at Deaton and the vet sighed. Stiles wanted to be annoyed at the display of impatience, but he knew, Deaton was reacting like that because this was an urgent matter. They didn’t have _time_ for extended tutoring. 

“So, you’re saying, I can’t do it at will?” 

“I’m saying that you need a strong motivator.”

“But how does that help?”

“It helps because we know what to do to make it possible?”

“And what is that?”

“Imagination.”

“What?”

“Take yourself back there, to that moment. What were you thinking just before you stopped time?”

Ah. That was the route they were going then. The answer to Deaton’s question was so frustratingly easy. Fear.

Bone deep, all-consuming fear.

Despite every nerve in his body telling him not to, he forced himself to think back to the panic he had felt in that second. He closed his eyes, smelled the sulphur and blood, heard the screeching.

His fingers started to tingle. At first, it was gentle, like warm water cascading over him, then it became more intense. Stiles reached out until his fingers touched a band that was starting to expand. Stiles was reminded of a rubber band you could pull and pull until it snapped. It got longer the stronger he pulled. But with each pull, the heat on his skin intensified until Stiles felt like he was burning up. His claws extended and his fangs elongated, his face morphed into fox form. He opened his eyes, deadly sure, they were bronze instead of brown, glowing.

But something wasn’t right. Deaton remained still, didn’t even blink. Stiles felt the time around him move like a flow but he was somehow not _in_ it. Like an outsider watching, he took a step forward. Nothing happened. Deaton didn’t move a muscle. 

Another step and Stiles started to tremble. His arms shook with a force he had only ever experienced once when he had held Derek up in that pool. He knew the sensation. His body was about to give out. Before it could, he released his hold on that band, he had discovered and felt time snap into place like a rubber band.

“What-” Deaton spoke up and caught Stiles before he collided with a locker. He couldn’t regain his balance; his knees shook so badly.

“Sit down.” Deaton directed him to the table where Stiles fell down. His shift was still out and he couldn’t gain enough strength to shift back to human. 

“Interesting,” Deaton murmured, checking on his eyes and claws. Stiles didn’t have it in him to make a snide remark. 

“Why-” he coughed, “why’s it feel like I need to sleep for the next five days?”

“It seems, stopping time takes a lot of strength.”

Yeah, no shit Sherlock.

“How long did it last?” Deaton asked like Stiles had had any concept of time while stopping the very same. Stiles shook his head, indicating that he had no idea whatsoever.

“Felt long enough,” he croaked out, thirsty to a point of dehydration. Deaton produced a glass of water from somewhere and helped Stiles drink.

“You still have not shifted back,” the vet remarked.

“Can’t,” he said, leaning against the wall.

“Try,” Deaton urged and watched in apparent fascination as Stiles’ claws disappeared and re-appeared like a DVD player trying to eject a disc. After a minute or two, Stiles finally managed to keep the claws in and his teeth were back to normal.

“So that was fun,” he said, feeling like he had been ran over by truck. 

“There wasn’t any toll on you the last time? You had your shift under control?”

“Last time, I didn’t do it for this long. It was just one little moment. I just needed one second more to step aside.” He shrugged, cursing when the motion jostled his body in a way that made him shiver. Why was it so cold in here?

“Prolonged exhaustion,” Deaton nodded like he was talking to himself.

“So I can do it but only for a second or I’m gonna collapse?” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Deaton suggested in that tone of his that drove Stiles up a wall on a good day. This was not a good day. But before he could say anything at all on the matter, Deaton continued “I’d imagine, circumstance might be influential.”

“But we can’t test that.”

“No,” the vet agreed, “but we know now that you can stop time for a certain amount time if you need to.”

“What good does that? If I can only hold it for one minute?”

“You of all people should know, Stiles,” Deaton said with a slow smile, “how much even one minute can be worth.”

* * *

After the talk with Deaton, Derek had already called to tell him about the pack meeting. They were to assemble and read up on anything they could find. Allison was still at the hospital and Chris was by her side. The rest of the pack, excluding Peter who was out there exploiting more elusive sources, were to come over and do research. While that would be either Stiles’ or Lydia’s job usually, Derek wasn’t taking any chances this time.

They needed to get ahead of those demons and fast.

There hadn’t been time to think any of his plan through, unfortunately. He didn’t even have a real plan. Right now, it consisted solely of keeping all that spark business under wraps. Stiles knew in his bones that he had to keep this to himself, test out what he could actually do before anyone else noticed. Sure, they knew he was a Spark but it seemed, apart from maybe Peter, nobody knew what that meant.

At first, he had only suspected that there was more to it than he had thought. But now, after the time incident, he was damn sure. And he had _lied_ to Derek without the wolf noticing.

It turned out, there wasn’t much, he couldn’t do.

But he didn’t know how yet. Not really. And if the others, if anyone outside the pack heard about it, they would lose their one advantage. Stiles would not risk it. Even if it meant looking Derek in the eye and not breathing a word to him. 

Stiles couldn’t let the guilt get to him. He almost couldn’t bear it. Not with the way Derek’s hand was so warm on his shoulder. This was _Derek_. He itched to talk to him, to put it all out on the table for him. He loved Derek, for fuck’s sake. 

And just like that, he realised, he _couldn’t_. He would save his pack and his Alphas and it would make it all worth it.

It _had_ to be worth it.

* * *

Isaac had asked for a lift in Roscoe, so Stiles took both him and Scott over to Derek’s for a pack meeting. The second the motor stopped, Isaac was already running up to the front door, apparently having smelled Derek’s cooking. Stiles took a deep breath and recognised the smell as chocolate chip caramel cookies and instantly understood Isaac’s reaction. If Erica got a hand on Derek’s cookies before Isaac did, there would be none left. 

Both Scott and Stiles piled out of the Jeep slowly, although Stiles got the feeling, Scott was doing it deliberately. It was highly unlike Scott not to barrel in after Isaac, especially when cookies were concerned, but Stiles didn’t think anything of it. Instead, he gathered his bag from the backseat and slowly started to walk up the path to the house. He was about to go in when Scott stopped him with a hand on his arm. Despite being a fox, Scott’s hand closed like iron around his bicep, holding him in place. Astounded, Stiles turned.

“What’s going on with you and Derek?” Scott asked with a concerned frown on his face. 

Stiles didn’t know where that had come from, so he shrugged and simply answered “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do though,” Scott said and it sounded final. Stiles cursed inwardly. He couldn’t do this. Not right now where anyone might overhear. He could _not_ tell Scott. 

But he wanted to.

 _God_ , did he want to. 

They had been friends since forever and Stiles had never truly lied to Scott before. Why would he? Scott was his brother, was _family_. And Scott hadn’t even sounded accusatory, merely curious, concerned even that something was wrong that needed fixing. 

Stiles didn’t deserve him.

He didn’t deserve Derek either.

What the fuck was he doing?

* * *

They didn’t leave anything to chance. Those demons were fierce and insanely quick to counter. Derek clenched his fists. He would have needed more time to figure out both of their names. But as of now, they only had managed to match one rune to one name. The other was still a mystery.

“Teleporting,” Stiles had groaned upon reading it, alerting the pack to this new set of abilities, this demon came with.

“What else?”

“Illusions? Like projections of herself,” Stiles had said, accompanied by a hand gesture that had encompassed Derek’s feelings on the matter. Namely that this was not good. They had had enough trouble against the other ones. This demon sounded much more dangerous. Lydia had thrown in that she suspected that status and power correlated.

When Boyd had simply asked “name?” and Stiles had answered “Abyss. Demon of chaos,” with a sigh, Derek knew, she was right. 

“Great,” Jackson had ground out, “that’s just great.”

Stiles had looked contrite, like it was his fault this was happening when it would have happened regardless. But Derek knew, guilt worked in the most gruesome ways.

The peace had lasted barely longer than a day. The first sign had been Isaac getting antsy. Derek had noticed, how he had started pacing in the house after dinner, up and down the stairs, how he wouldn’t settle and had been unable to give an explanation as to why. Then, Lydia’s eyes stopped focussing on the page. Derek hadn’t noticed at first, but Jackson had. After a minute of her not moving, he touched her shoulder much gentler than Derek was used to. He couldn’t help the small uptick of his lips upon realising, how good those two were for each other.

“Lydia?” Jackson murmured, probably to ring through to her without ripping her out of her trance completely. She didn’t react and Derek heard Jackson’s heart rate spike. Before Jackson could launch into full-blown panic mode, Stiles was over there, laying a calming hand on Jackson’s arm.

Lydia spoke, then, with a grave voice, her eyes still unfocussed.

“Four- no, five. Museum.”

It gave Derek chills, listening to her, watching her see something that hadn’t happened yet. This particular gift, the sight, he wished on nobody. 

* * *

The cars came to a halt almost simultaneously. Stiles caught Jackson’s eyes as they walked towards the entrance of the museum. It was a bizarre place for a massacre, he thought, not at all what he would have expected. Perhaps that was the reason for it having been picked. Because no one would have thought to consider this a target or in need of surveillance.

“Something’s off,” Jackson murmured, walking on Stiles’ left. Stiles sniffed the air, anticipating the sting of sulphur but came up blank. He saw Derek and Scott do the same but both shook their heads. 

“What the hell-” Erica violently pulled Stiles back by his collar. Spluttering around the sudden tightness of his airways, Stiles stumbled. He held onto her shoulder for balance before righting himself. He was about to launch into a rant when she pointed at the ground. 

“Fuck.” Having been so focussed on the absence of smell, Stiles had paid no attention to where he was going. If it hadn’t been for Erica’s quick thinking, he would have stepped right into a pile of- well, a pile of flesh it seemed. 

“What is that?” he heard Boyd breathe, curious disgust coating his voice. Stiles suspected, he was better off not knowing exactly what he had almost stepped into. While he was still pondering what might have occurred here, Derek was ushering them in, hissing they had to be extra careful.

After passing the entrance hall and hearing no sound apart from their own rapid breathing, Stiles stopped dead in the middle of the first exhibition. Because Jackson was right.

Something was off here.

Stiles felt it in his bones. There was nobody here. Not a living soul beside the pack. He did another sweep with his magic, fingers tingling with the sickness of death hovering in these halls but came up blank. The only life sources he could find was those of the pack behind him.

“Could she be hiding?” Scott asked, eyes still Alpha red. Stiles could see, he was on edge. As were the rest of them. The air, it seemed, was charged with tension. Like a storm on the brisk of breaking.

“I don’t smell anything rotten,” Jackson snarled around elongated fangs, re-stating what Stiles had been thinking even before entering. His blues eyes glimmered in the dark like a promise of violence.

“Your- the thing you do,” Isaac said gesturing at Stiles’ everything, “are you sure that’s fool proof?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you checked for living, right? What if she doesn’t show up because she’s not alive?”

That was an exceptionally astute observation and Stiles cursed himself for not having taken that into account. Lydia had similar thoughts, apparently, because her facial expression had soured. Stiles concentrated hard and did another swipe through the room, this time focussing on the sickness he had felt whenever the demons had been around before.

He came up blank again.

“Nothing,” he said and saw how both Scott and Derek visibly deflated. 

“There’s no sense in being here if the demon’s gone,” Lydia pointed out. She had that dazed look on her face, she always got whenever she was surrounded by death. Stiles took her arm, led her towards the exit. He agreed with her statement. No sense torturing themselves with the empty eyes of the museum tour guide, staring helplessly at him where she hung from a wall, head lolled to the side, spear imbedded in her chest.

* * *

The woods around them were quieter than Derek was used to. He had bolted the windows and had locked the door twice for good measure. Despite not being fully aware of why, he had given in to that nagging voice in the back of his head, telling him to stay awake tonight. That attack on the museum had been so swift, nobody had had time to prevent the damage. The bodies were piling up around them and Derek wanted nothing more than to stop it. If only he had any idea how. 

The pack was asleep around him in the living room, sprawled out on couches and cushions. He saw Erica and Boyd curled up together like nothing could separate them. Scott and Isaac were leaning against each other like they had fallen asleep sitting up. Lydia and Jackson shared the two-seater, her head on his shoulder and his arm slung protectively around her torso. Jackson snorted in his sleep and pulled her closer.

Derek almost smiled at that. He would never tell Jackson but he was frightfully unthreatening when he was asleep. As for Stiles, he had dropped down on Derek fifteen minutes ago and had been fast asleep for the last ten. Every breath full of air jostled a strand of hair standing up from his forehead. Derek reached out, pushing the strand away so that it would not wake up Stiles. Stiles’ fingers cramped where they lay on Derek’s knee. The touch startled him a little but since Stiles gave no indicator that he was awake, so Derek relaxed back against the cushion.

He could stay like this and be happy, Derek realised. Later on, he would ponder whether that thought might have triggered it. Triggered it because Derek should be so unlucky that even one singular happy thought could cause mayhem to rain down on them.

_Because Derek Hale wasn’t allowed happiness._

The window burst open, glass shattering everywhere. Derek leapt out of his seat, already in beta shift. Boyd was by his side before he could holler, Scott at his back. They had moved without Derek noticing. He saw, from the corner of his eyes as Stiles and Jackson shielded Lydia, how Erica made it to the kitchen to grab the silver knife and rosary Stiles had left in there. At first, Derek’s senses didn’t catch up with him. He realised, it was because this demon was here one second, gone the next.

He couldn’t pinpoint her, she moved to fast.

Illusions, the voice in Derek’s head said. Illusions. He had read about that, how that demon could project her image to wherever she pleased unless one managed to injure her actual body. 

The others seemed to remember too because suddenly chaos erupted. Each wolf was going up against one projection of hers. Derek was invested in a vicious fight, sure he had the right one, when Erica howled in pain and went down. The demon had broken her wrist and ankle and she couldn’t stand. Boyd, for a second distracted, was hit over the head with the bronze statue Peter had gifted Derek last Christmas.

For a split moment, Derek was caught between continuing to fight and rushing over when Erica stopped him with a raised hand. She was already starting to crawl, fighting off the demon still scratching at her. A heavy kick to Derek’s ribs and he stumbled forward clutching his chest. Stiles was faring well, it seemed and Isaac and Scott were holding their own. Erica had reached Boyd.

Derek was distracted again when Stiles snarled, obviously in pain. He was about to turn for a second time, when a nasty sound of flesh ripping apart echoed through the house.

“That’s her!” Jackson snapped before slashing right through the demon’s cheek. The pack watched in wonder, mesmerised, as blood poured over her face. She looked, just then, like a maniac, utterly deranged like she couldn’t believe, a mortal had done that. Derek heard a pop followed by another and the illusions disappeared before his eyes. The demon screeched and whirled up into the air as far as she could go.

Jackson didn’t have time to duck before she barrelled into him, flattening him against the ground with slashes in his stomach. Derek smelled the blood before he heard Jackson’s heart set out for two beats. Lydia screamed with all her power and it bought them enough time to pull Jackson to the side. Derek made sure, Lydia was safe and Jackson was alive before turning back to his target.   
  


There was a moment, just one singular moment, where Derek saw Stiles standing in the middle of the room, with no one in the way. He could have used his powers then, without risking anyone else.

But he _didn’t_.

He let the demon come to him and he fought her tooth and nail. But that rush of pure, unrestrained power he had witnessed so many times before, it just didn’t come.

Derek didn’t have time to ponder, to wonder why just then but it remained seared into his brain. Something was wrong here, something was going on that Stiles wasn’t telling him about. He flew into motion, seeing Stiles struggle to get the upper hand.

He could have electrocuted her at any time, but the only thing that made her scream was Stiles’ claws digging into her skin, ripping pieces of flesh out of her wings. Derek reached him and was backed by Isaac almost immediately.

He managed to get a good hit in, even sliced through what felt like bone with his claw. Isaac helped Stiles up and together they moved in on the demon again. She laughed in a way that made Derek want to vomit, it reminded him so much of Kate. He had just gotten a hand around the demon’s wrist when the demon lashed out. With a surge of destructive power, all three of them were catapulted back.

Derek hit the wall and slid down to the ground, momentarily disoriented. Splinters of wood stung in his back and his ankle was twisted the wrong way. Stiles didn’t stand immediately and Isaac was on the ground too. The demon flung itself at Isaac, taking hold of his shoulder and slicing neatly through it. Isaac snarled, trying to fight her off while Derek stumbled forward to help. He couldn’t get there fast enough before the sound of bones breaking made his ears ring. Isaac’s knees gave out, he cradled his arm to his chest.

The demon gripped his hair, pulling until he stood. Derek saw it before it happened, fought to get closer, saw Stiles trying and failing to stand, a gaping wound on his temple. Isaac managed to twist away. The demon ripped him back, exposed his neck and sank its teeth into Isaac’s flesh. She let Isaac drop who couldn’t even get up on his hands anymore, shrieking all the while. Pure rage hit Derek straight in the core. It fuelled him to close in on her, make her pay.

He was pushed aside before his claws could reach her.

Derek heard Scott’s pained howl, saw a flash of teeth and eyes before suddenly, the shrieking stopped.

Derek looked up. He felt a wave of sympathy hit him when he saw Scott crouching down on the floor, claws bloody, fangs extended.

To his left, the demon’s head lay soaking the rug with blood the same shade of Scott’s eyes.

* * *

The clean-up lasted longer than it usually did. Stiles suspected, it was due to the sheer insanity of being attacked at ones’ home. Boyd, Erica, Jackson and Isaac all needed medical attention and Melissa had come over and had ushered them out.

That left Scott, Lydia, Derek and Stiles the only ones there. Scott had insisted on leaving with Isaac but Isaac had told him not to. He would be with Allison at the McCall household and they both needed for Scott to calm down before coming home. Isaac would fall asleep in the car anyhow, he assured Scott with tired eyes. Stiles could smell Scott’s rage at seeing the bite mark slowly healing on Isaac’s skin. It was like a physical reminder that Scott hadn’t protected his mate.

Not that Stiles blamed him.

Rather the opposite. If it was anyone’s fault, it was Stiles’. He would have to live with the knowledge that he could have done something but hadn’t. Instead, Scott – kind and forgiving Scott – had been forced to deliver the killing blow. But Stiles was selfishly glad that he didn’t detect an ounce of guilt in Scott’s chemo signals. Maybe even Scott couldn’t allow that thing to live.

Derek, Stiles knew, wouldn’t sleep well tonight and neither would anyone else. They had witch proved the house, Stiles had put up wards against ill intent and yet, the demon had barged in like the front door had been wide open. He still couldn’t fathom how that had happened, how he hadn’t realised in time. While cleaning out Lydia’s shoulder from where she had collided with a vase, he caught Derek’s gaze over the table.

The look Derek levelled him with was different from any other Stiles had ever seen on him. Somewhere between confused and worried, intrigued even. It sent shivers down his spine, being focussed on like that, analysed. He knew, it had been a close call, that one of them was about to realise what he was doing and call him out on it. But he hadn’t counted on it being Derek. He had prayed it would be anyone else.

But then again, Derek had always told him, he was watching, was paying attention. Only, until now, Stiles hadn’t believed him. To see it was true, that Derek really wanted him so much, under these circumstances was almost too cruel.

He wanted to reach out to him, tell him, he had it under control and that there was no need to worry. He just couldn’t. Not when Derek was right. He had reason to suspect something was going on because there _was_. Stiles hadn’t used his spark once tonight, hadn’t used anything other than his claws and fangs. 

“We should all go to bed,” Lydia suggested in a softer fashion than she usually talked. Scott and Lydia started to leave but, for a mere second, Stiles lingered in the doorframe. A thousand thoughts ran through his head and it almost felt like he had stopped time again, just to give himself more of it to _think_.

There were two ways this could go. Either, Stiles stayed or he left with the rest of the pack. But if he stayed, Derek would _ask_. He would insist on Stiles not having used his spark tonight, he would press on and on until Stiles caved and he couldn’t have that. Stiles couldn’t lie to him.

Not again.

He didn’t _want_ to.

So instead, he took the easy, the coward’s way out.

The shutting of the door had never sounded so final.


	6. NEXILIS: woven together & intertwined

> _There are devilish thoughts even in the most angelic minds._

Somewhere in the house, a phone went off. Stiles sat up straight, the promise of sleep completely forgotten. He leapt out of bed when he heard his father gasp and raced to the door only to find his dad already storming in.

“You need to call Scott and Derek!”

“What’s happened? Dad?” his father ran down the stairs, hastily pulling on his uniform jacket, “Dad!”

“Call Derek!” 

“Why- what happened?!”

“Stiles- call Derek!” it was the last thing his father said before the door slammed shut. Stiles scrambled for his own phone, hitting speed dial. After the first ring, Derek picked up.

“Stiles? What’s going on?” Derek sounded sleepy and, for but a moment, it made Stiles forget everything that had happened, everything that was wrong. He wanted to stay there, hearing Derek’s voice and cooing over the way he slurred his words. Even without seeing him, Stiles knew, Derek had the most adorable frown on his face whenever he was roused from sleep.

The moment didn’t last long.

“My dad said to call you- he rushed off to the station and I have no idea why!” The hysteria carried in his voice and his knuckles fisted in the bed sheets. He didn’t know what to do with any of this. Panic was starting to set in.

 _Breathe_ , he reminded himself, _breathe_.

“Stiles- I need you to call Scott!”

“What? Why?!” Why did everyone brush him off? What was going on? Why did they all know more than he did?

“Stiles!” Derek snapped, using his Alpha voice which only enraged Stiles further, “call Scott!” With that, he was being hung up on. Stiles felt anger flare up, a sharp and heady scent in the air. He had to force five exhales before his claws receded and his fingertips stopped burning.

Another minute passed before he could dial Scott’s number. Like with Derek, Scott had been asleep.

“What’s going on?” he mumbled, just as off guard as Stiles had been.

“My dad rushed out and then Derek hung up on me and they both said, I should call you and I have no idea what’s going on or what to do and-”

“Stiles please- slowly,” Scott interrupted him in a gentle tone Stiles could barely take. He was furious and afraid and so _lost_.

For a second time, he recounted to Scott what had occurred. At least, Scott listened and didn’t hang up. He asked Stiles to wait for a minute and woke his mother. Nothing came of it. She didn’t know what was going on either. After calling Deaton, Scott told him that there was commotion at the station and the hospital but that nobody knew what was going on.

“You could call Parrish,” Scott suggested after they had exhausted every other option of obtaining information. Stiles’ heart had continuously been beating up to his ears, cold sweat had started to gather on his forehead. When he did just that, he heard yelling in the background and his panic returned a tenfold.

“Stiles,” Parrish ground out, attention somewhere else, “I can’t talk! It’s hell in here!”

“Is my dad-” Stiles managed to get out. He heard Parrish’s sharp “he’s okay” before the call disconnected.

* * *

There was something severely wrong. Derek could taste it in the air the second, Stiles’ call had come through. He had raced down the stairs and flown into the car and out of the parking lot. The Camaro had roared to life and Derek had hit the gas with full force the second his foot touched the petal. Before he knew it, he was cutting corners left and right. In his mind, only one thought kept running on a loop.

_Get to Stiles!  
_

If only he managed to get there before something else could, everything would be alright. He just had to make it there in time. The whole way there, he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. That alone had had him suspecting that chaos would erupt soon mainly because Beacon Hills had always been like that. Calm and collected, even normal was not the usual. Derek knew, he was not the only one waiting for the other shoe to drop. His phone rang again and he put it on speaker, running a red light while he was at it. 

“Are you there yet?” Scott’s voice came through, sounding horribly hollow and exhausted. Derek clenched his fist around the wheel until his knuckles turned white. If Scott sounded like that, it was _bad_.

“Almost,” he grunted, hitting the gas after cutting a corner. 

“Derek, there is-” Scott took a heavy breath and Derek could almost see him running a hand through his hair, “it’s bad.”

“How?”

“Three bodies,” Scott said and his voice wavered with enough pain for Derek to feel it through the bond they shared as Alphas, “thirteen people injured.”

Derek hissed. Thirteen was a lot.

“There’s- there’s so much blood and the injuries- Derek, they look-” but Scott couldn’t put it into words. The horror he must have seen was evident.

“The pack?” Derek asked while pressing down even harder on the gas.

“Home,” Scott said, “Boyd’s coming.”

“Isaac?”

“With Allison.” Silence spread between them. The only thing Derek could hear was the laboured breathing on the other end. He wished, Scott didn’t have to do this, witness all this carnage. He had such a soft heart. Derek hated that Scott had to go through this when their roles could have easily been reversed. It should have been Derek who had walked into the hospital to look for any clues as to why that attack had happened. He should have been the one to take on that burden because Scott was too young, too _good_ to be tainted like that. But Derek wasn’t there. And Scott hadn’t asked him to. Because Scott knew that Derek’s first, his most insistent instinct was to get to Stiles.

“Take care of yourself,” he ground out, trying to say without saying that he appreciated Scott doing this for him.

He still wasn’t good with words.

“You too, Derek,” Scott said, “text me when you get there?” Derek promised, he would. It was then that the Stilinski house came into view and Derek’s heart sped up. Despite there being no sign of forced entry, Derek feared what he would find inside. He could still feel Stiles through the pack bond but that didn’t mean anything. Alive, Derek had learned, was a very broad term.

The Camaro screeched to a halt and Derek was at the window within a second. He didn’t bother knocking, simply ripped it open and tumbled inside, almost colliding with Stiles who had rushed forward to let him in.

“What’s going on? Why are you here? Where’s Scott? Why’s my dad-” Derek, who had finally managed to climb in and stand up again, held up a hand to stop the flow of words coming from Stiles’ mouth. Usually, he loved when Stiles talked but he couldn’t answer him like this. Stiles’ anxiety level was through the roof and Derek realised, this was partly his fault for not being clear on the phone.

“There was another attack,” he started, watching Stiles closely in case he would have a panic attack. They had gotten better over the years but he still experienced them from time to time. His main objective here was to avoid triggering that.

“Your dad is at the station talking to witnesses. Scott and Melissa are at the hospital with the victims. Boyd is on the way there.”

“Why are you here?” Stiles asked again, like it was such an uncommon thing for Derek to race over here. Derek conceded that Stiles probably hadn’t put it together yet, that the demon could be on the hunt for him specifically but he would any second now.

“Oh,” and there it was, right on cue, “you think, it’s distraction?”

“I wasn’t sure,” Derek admitted, “but I’m not taking that risk.” The corner of Stiles’ lips ticked like he was about to smile and Derek relaxed a fraction upon seeing it.

Their moment of tranquillity was quickly gone when Stiles said “you think, she’ll come here?”

“Maybe.”

“How did you know…” Stiles asked, eyes trained on the window like he was waiting for someone else to come climbing through it. Derek was sure, they both smelled the other’s fear. His entire body thrummed with energy, making him restless.

“Your dad texted me and Scott but I didn’t see it until you woke me up with your call.”

“Why didn’t you tell me then? Why come over and not talk to me on the phone?” There was a distinct lack of accusation in Stiles’ tone that Derek wished he had more time to analyse.

“I- don’t know…” Derek admitted sheepishly. In truth, his instincts had gone into overdrive upon reading the message.

“Can I-” Stiles fidgeted where he stood. It struck Derek as odd, that Stiles wouldn’t demand to see his phone right this second. The way Stiles’ gaze flickered across the room didn’t help settle his anxiety either. Something was wrong here and Stiles wasn’t talking.

“Can I see the message?” Stiles finally managed to ask and made it sound like Derek should deny. Which, of course he wouldn’t do.

“Here,” he said handing over his phone.

“Why-” Derek knew without having to ask what Stiles was about to say. It was really rather obvious.

_Why didn’t my dad tell me?  
_

_Why did he say to call you?  
_

“He made the right call, you know?” Derek tried to placate without having any clue if he was succeeding.

“How can you say that?” There it was, the accusation. Derek almost smiled upon hearing it. At least, there was still something normal in their interactions.

“I’m not defenceless, Derek.” Of course, he wasn’t. But the Sheriff worried. And Scott worried. And Derek worried. So they had made sure that one of them would go over to the Stilinski household and the other would join the Sheriff. Derek might have been rather insistent on his end that he’d be the one to drive to Stiles’. It wasn’t because Stiles was defenceless, despite what he might have thought.

For Derek, it was simple math. Stiles meant everything to him. He was not about to risk that. Especially not after what the Sheriff had just told him. What had just occurred put Stiles – and _mostly_ Stiles – in vital danger.

“I never said you were.”

“You didn’t have to.” Derek could sense Stiles’ irritation rise.

“Stiles-”

“Sorry,” Stiles stepped back again like being in the same space as Derek suddenly wasn’t a good thing anymore. Before Derek could even start to fuss about it, Stiles gestured towards the kitchen.

“Snack?”

He didn’t wait for an affirmation, simply walked off. Derek got the sense, once again, that there was something eating away at Stiles. He didn’t like it but he also didn’t know how to ask Stiles to explain. Stiles could get defensive at times, especially when he felt like Derek was overly protective.

And while this wasn’t an incident like that and Derek had reason to be worried, he still didn’t want to upset Stiles further by pressing the matter.

* * *

In the kitchen, Stiles forced himself to breathe in through his nose, out of his mouth like his therapist had taught him. He couldn’t have a panic attack. Not now with Derek ten feet away. God only knew what would come out of his mouth once his brain into overdrive. That was not something he could risk. The more he tried to calm down, though, the more agitated he became. Only when the plate he hadn’t remembered picking up clashed to the floor did he realise how badly his hands were shaking.

Derek, alerted by the crashing of ceramic, came in wearing an expression Stiles was entirely too familiar with.

“I’m fine,” he insisted and saw Derek’s eyebrows starting the ascend up his forehead.

“You don’t need to pretend,” Derek said slowly before adding “not with me.” Stiles’ heart contracted so painfully in his chest, he pressed his palm against it. Out of instinct he stepped forward and right into the shreds. He hadn’t been wearing socks.

“Shit!” Derek was up in his space within a second, lifting him up on the counter. Stiles didn’t have time to react more than throwing around some choice words. His foot burned when Derek pulled out the shard expertly, not the slightest bit concerned by the blood oozing over his fingers. Stiles reminded himself sternly not to look at the mess, still not acclimated to blood despite the years of bathing in it.

“Thanks,” he mumbled when Derek cleaned the cut so that no ceramic would be enclosed in the skin when it healed itself together. Being of the werebeing kind had its perks in the healing department, Stiles would never grow tired of saying. Derek’s eyes caught his then and Stiles read in them the unspoken question of whether or not he was okay. He didn’t particularly feel like lying, so he settled for a shrug. Derek took that for what it was, putting away the rest of the broken plate.

Once he was finished, Derek stood but seemed to have no idea what to do with himself.

“Der-” Stiles heard himself ask before he could think it through. A part of him acted simply on instinct, wanting Derek closer. Derek move forward until he was standing directly in front of him but he didn’t reach out.

“Derek, I-” he bit his tongue.

 _Don’t do it_ , he reminded himself, _don’t blab it all out now._

The voice in his head was right. He had held on so long, just a little more wouldn’t matter. The guilt washed over him at that thought but he swallowed it down to where his self-hatred and shame were already cowering.

Meanwhile, Derek’s hands had settled on his waist, grounding him in a way. It was the body contact, the warmth Derek still radiated despite Stiles having no right to be doused in it, that pushed him over.

If he could hold on a little longer, just a little longer and pretend that everything was fine, that he wasn’t having secrets, wasn’t lying, it would be alright. He would save the pack, would save them and Derek would forgive him.

His lips brushed against Derek’s and for the first time in weeks, he felt like he could breathe again. Derek was still here, he still wanted him despite Derek knowing that something was up. It would be alright. Stiles would explain himself and Derek would understand. Derek wouldn’t leave him over that.

He would _listen_.

Stiles was sure of it, _needed_ to be sure of it.

* * *

“Get up.” At first, Stiles didn’t react to the intruding voice. He was too comfortable cuddled up against Derek on the couch. They had fallen asleep somewhere around 4 in the morning after his dad had finally called, telling him that he had everything under control. Derek had closed his arms around him, had pulled him in until Stiles had felt his breath ghost over the skin of his neck. It had made him feel protected, safe.

“Scott?” he asked sleepily once he had managed to sit up. It hadn’t been an easy feat considering Derek had the tendency to get clingy in his sleep.

“We need to go,” Scott said with urgency. Stiles felt Derek stir before he was suddenly pushed back down and Derek was hovering over him.

“No need for that, Derek, it’s me,” Scott instantly reassured, both hands raised in defence. Derek calmed down considerable but some kind of tension lingered. Stiles felt it too but he was almost entirely certain, it came from Scott.

“You need to come with me,” Scott repeated, making “move it” motions with his hands. 

“What’s wrong,” Derek had the sense to ask.

“Boyd tried to track her scent but she disappeared. We can’t find her so we need to get moving. We’re going back to yours. The rest of the pack is there. If she decides to attack again, we’re stronger as a pack.” Stiles wanted to remind Scott right there that he had stolen that line from Derek but he knew, it wasn’t the right moment. 

Maybe it was the stress of being up all night or the lingering taste of danger that had Scott all riled up. In any case, he suddenly snapped with much more bite than usual “get your things!”

It was the first time Scott had ever used his Alpha voice since Stiles had been turned. The command washed over him but he didn’t snap to attention, didn’t feel that sharp pain run down his spine like the other Betas had told him about. He still nodded, keeping his mouth shut. There was no need to discuss the Alpha voice having no impact on him right now. This had no bearing on the matter at hand. Stiles was not about to cause even more chaos.

 _Another lie,_ that vicious voice in his head snarled at him, _you’re telling another lie because you got comfortable with lying._

He followed Scott to the car, fingers tingling with the danger surrounding them. It was almost like a tangible thing, thick and heavy around them. There was no clear source but Stiles’ eyes flickered to the trees to his right and back to the road to make sure they weren’t being attacked in broad daylight. Derek was behind him, a hand on his back but even his posture was stiff like he could feel it too.

“Something is wrong,” he murmured.

“It’s her power,” Stiles whispered back, “it’s everywhere.” He could almost see the shadows of dark magic covering the entirety of the town. Like tentacles, they climbed over buildings and stretched over streets. Stiles suppressed a shiver. This was greater power than he had ever seen. A demon who could do this, whose power was so strong, her mere presence held the town captive, would not be taken out easily.

“Guys, come on,” Scott yelled from the car, wearing a frown.

Stiles noticed, his claws were extended where his fingers were cramped around the wheel.

* * *

The pack was all huddled up in their rooms. Derek busied himself with putting away dishes and pretending to be busy, just so that his brain wouldn’t get any funny ideas. He felt minutely better because he could hear all of his pack’s heart beats steadily, could smell their scents even in the living room. They were safe, he reminded himself. They were under his roof and they were _safe_.

At least, for the moment.

Tomorrow, they would have to regroup and come up with a plan to track that demon down and end this unnecessary bloodshed. Derek knew, Stiles was up there in his bedroom, frantically turning pages to come up with an explanation, a reason for why this was happening. But as long as they didn’t have the demon’s name, even Stiles couldn’t figure it out. It made Derek sad, watching Stiles beat himself up about something he had no control over.

If only Derek could find a way to make Stiles understand that this wasn’t his responsibility, that nobody expected him to solve every puzzle on his own.

But Derek didn’t know _how_.

He contemplated going up there and talking to him but decided against it. Stiles always got more stressed whenever Derek tried to make him stop running himself into the ground with the need to solve the problems the universe liked to throw at them.

For a minute, he lingered in the kitchen, hands fiddling with a kitchen towel before he discarded it. There was no use in staying in here when the kitchen was a clean as it would get. It would only increase Derek’s stress level to see so evidently that there was nothing for him to do. He should work on getting a hobby, he mused once he had sat down on the couch. For ten minutes, he managed to enjoy sitting there and staring at the wall.

To his dying day, Derek refused to admit to having flinched when he had heard someone descending the stairs. His instincts were all mangled up when Peter slowly came into view. While his nose was telling him that there was no danger, Derek’s heart wasn’t too sure. After all that had happened between them, Derek had a hard time trusting him. He knew, Peter wouldn’t do anything to Stiles because Stiles was his favourite and that he didn’t dare do anything to Lydia because she secretly scared.

But Derek? Derek was fair game. If Peter wanted the Alpha spark back, Derek would be the obvious target. 

“Don’t get up on my account,” Peter said with a smirk once he stood in the living room, staring down at Derek with a glimmer in his eyes that Derek would have liked an explanation for.

“I come bearing news, nephew,” Peter’s tone was jovial but Derek detected a very persistent note of urgency, “and not the good kind.”

* * *

Mixed feelings swirled in Stiles’ gut once he saw why Derek had yelled for them to come down. He had been emerged into research and hadn’t enjoyed being jostled out of it.

“What are you doing here?” Erica asked with much more force than was strictly necessary. Peter didn’t seem to mind. But then again, who knew what Peter thought.

“The name of your demon is Lahad.”

“Lahad, where do I know that from,” Lydia mumbled where she was sitting down. Stiles too vaguely remembered the sound of that name.

“She is the one that talked to us in the woods,” Peter continued like Lydia had said nothing at all, “the devil’s voice.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Isaac chimed in, brows raised in an unmistakable impersonation of Derek.

“You shouldn’t,” Peter nodded, “she is meant to have the power of being Satan’s messenger, of being able to manipulate people simply by talking to them.” Stiles saw understanding dawn on each of their faces. So that was why Jackson had surrender so easily to them. He didn’t blurt out that the voice hadn’t had any impact on him. That was another one of those things that could give him away. Luckily, nobody paid him any attention.

“The bodies were missing their hearts,” Scott suddenly spoke up, voice hollow. Stiles could tell how much what he had seen weighed down on him. He promised himself that, once this was over, he would ask Scott for a bro’s night in, playing video games and eating an obscene amount of junk food.

“But she’s alone. What does she need those hearts for? Why three?” Isaac asked with a tinge of irritation creeping into his tone. Stiles didn’t comment, mind too busy whirling with this new information and all the implications that came with it.

“How can she start it again when she’s alone? It doesn’t make any sense,” Erica said with just as much uncertainty. 

“It doesn’t make sense because we’ve been looking at this all wrong,” Stiles concluded after having found his voice again. 

“What are you talking about?” Jackson snarled. The stress was obviously getting to him. The unknowing of what was about to come made him uncomfortable, Stiles knew. 

“That the ritual we thought they were doing isn’t the ritual they were actually trying to do,” Stiles was quick to say. It all made sense now. He knew, where he had heard that name before and why his heart had set out for a moment upon hearing it. He recalled turning that one particular page, dismissing it instantly because he had been so sure it was power they were after.

If only he had paid more attention… 

“Then pray tell, what was it?” Erica said like she was of the utmost opinion that the real ritual couldn’t be any worse. Which was wrong.

“It’s not about gaining strength. Well- actually, I think the hearts of those other people were- but this is different. They didn’t come here by accident.”

“Just start talking, Stilinski,” Jackson huffed despite Stiles already talking.

“I think there’s another ritual and that they need some very specific things for it. Things we have.”

“But what about the others? Why can she do this alone?”

“Because I firmly believe, she doesn’t _need_ the others. Sure, they’re helpful but they aren’t essential. It’s all her. As long as one of them is alive, they can still pull it off.”

“Pull what off?”

“Free their boss.”

“Their boss?”

“Lucifer.”

“You’re talking apocalypse, Satan rising from hell.”

“Yes,” Stiles said with conviction, “that’s why they came _here_.”

“I don’t understand.” It was the first time in this conversation Derek had even said anything. His face was pale and his eyes shone too bright. For a brief second, Stiles feared, Derek had figured out what Stiles wasn’t saying but he dismissed it quickly. There was no way Derek could know. 

“They need certain things to make it happen.”

“We know that. Four hearts to consume. One for each of them.”

“Only there aren’t four hearts missing but three,” Lydia reminded them.

“Right,” Stiles nodded at her, “that was when I thought they were witches trying to pull a Khan.”

“Then what is this?”

“There is another ritual- I saw it in a book and I didn’t pay it any attention because it sounded so absurd. But now- I think, I know what they need for the ritual to work. And it puts us right in the middle.”

What?” Boyd, Erica, Scott and Allison had all spoken at the same time. It would have been funny if the situation were not so dire. 

“That night- when we went after them and they got us, they had a plan- we were- they knew, we would come, that we would try to stop them and that’s exactly what they counted on.”

“Why?”

“Because they need much more than just three simple human hearts.”

“I’m going to ask,” Lydia said, “but I’m fairly sure, I don’t want to know the answer.”

“You know it already if you’re asking like this,” Stiles pointed out with half a smile. After all, she had read it too, of that Stiles was sure. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have known that name. 

“What do they need us for, Stilinski. Spit it out.”

“A pack.”

“Any pack?” Stiles smiled, nodded at Derek wanting to acknowledge that Derek’s suspicion was on point.

“No. There needs to be power, a real bond. A true Alpha doesn’t hurt.”

“What does that mean- what do they need specifically?”

“A priest,” Stiles said pointing at the picture of the first victim they had never bothered to check before now.

“A virgin,” Lydia chimed in.

“A mother,” Peter finished. 

“One Alpha. One Beta. An emissary. A revenant,” he counted them down on his hands, “it’s like the genetic make-up of any functioning pack, except for the revenant which is for the revival part, I think.”

“I don’t understand,” Derek repeated the one sentence he had said up until now like Stiles’ explanation, the impending doom, had forced him to revert back to his self from years ago where he had been unable to express himself. Stiles’ heart ached for him.

“The heart of the pack, the muscle, the mind. Alpha. Beta. Emissary.”

“Ah is that all?” Jackson bit out, sarcasm his only defence at this point. 

“That’s all,” Peter said, not without a curl to his lips that screamed danger. 

“But Stiles-” Scott looked frightened, like he had just put it together, “we have all that.”

* * *

“When are you leaving? Derek asked the second the door shut off the ears of the pack. Peter’s facial expression shifted from neutral to slightly pissed off. Well, two could play that game. Derek knew, he wasn’t staying around when danger was concerned, so he might as well leave now. 

“Better make it quick,” he added, gesturing at the door.

“You hurt me, nephew,” Peter said with an exaggerated hand gesture, “what makes you think, I’m leaving?”

“Because you always leave the second things turn bad.”

“I left because your pack of toddlers were didn’t have a clue about what they were going up against so I decided to intervene.”

“They’re not-” he stopped short, redirecting his course, “thanks for that,” he said and pointed at the door, “you did your part- you can leave now.”

Peter moved towards the door but halted in his steps, hand on the doorknob.

“You’re pushing where you have no business pushing, Derek,” he said with no inflection whatsoever.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, you think I’ll turn around and try to kill you again- that if you trust me, I’ll disappoint you because of what I’ve done.”

That about summed it up. But Derek wasn’t ready to admit that to himself let alone Peter so he only grunted.

“I am here, am I not?” Peter said, sounding exhausted and suddenly resigned.

“You think I would have come back here if I didn’t care?” his uncle snarled, “it may have escaped your notice, Derek, but I’m on their list too.”

“What?”

“A revenant? Ring any bell?”

“I thought-”

“That it was you? Oh no, they have you down for the born Alpha.”

“But I wasn’t-”

“How would you know? The Alpha spark doesn’t pick and choose, it just shifts to the oldest.”

“Should have been you then.”

“I was clinically dead. There was nothing to latch onto.”

Silence spread between them once Derek realised what Peter’s presence meant. Especially, considering what his uncle had just told him. He felt shame creep up his neck with the accusation he had thrown around. It wasn’t typical of Peter to run headfirst into danger and Derek had taken his willingness to come back the wrong way.

“Thank you,” he managed to say and watched the blue fire in Peter’s eyes simmer down.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Peter said with a frown.

* * *

Stiles had been fidgeting in the parking lot for thirty minutes. One part of him wanted to go in and get it over with but the other part was too afraid of what he would hear once his foot crossed the threshold. The clock was running and time was of the essence, he was well aware. But his nerves, oh, his nerves were getting the best of him.

“If you are ready to come in,” Deaton’s voice suddenly carried over to him. Stiles flinched at being called out like that. It helped though, having no other choice but to comply. He didn’t know if he would have brought himself to do it if Deaton hadn’t called out to him.

Once inside, Stiles blurted out what had been on his mind since they had figured out what was going on.

“If they need an emissary, why didn’t they kidnap you?” Deaton had that smile going which meant he was feeling like the smartest person in the room again. Stiles’ anger sky rocketed again and he had to force himself to wait for Deaton to elaborate. 

“Because I am not Derek’s emissary,” Deaton said, still smiling, “and neither am I Scott’s.”

“Huh?” That was certainly news. Stiles had been sure, Deaton was _at least_ Scott’s. But the vet obviously had another idea because he lifted his hand and pointed his finger in a very clear indication that had Stiles’ head spinning. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he even said it out loud. 

“ _You_ are.”

“But that’s-”

“I have continued to tell you, Stiles, that both Scott and Derek came to you when they were in need because subconsciously, they knew what you were even before it truly manifested. Is it really such a wonder that they both chose you as their emissary.”

“There was no choosing. Nobody chose me for anything.” A little too much truth and bitterness swung in his words and he quickly swallowed them down before anyone could comment.

“You said, Scott used his Alpha voice and it didn’t work,” Deaton countered, looking entirely too pleased.

“So?”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because I’m not a wolf?”

“Because you’re his emissary. Being an emissary automatically cancels out each and every power an Alpha has.”

“Why?”

“Emissaries are the rational voice, the common sense in a pack,” Deaton said not without levelling Stiles with a look that translated to “good luck with that” before continuing. “If the Alpha were able to control the emissary, the pack would fall apart.”

“Because the emissary councils the Alpha,” Stiles realised suddenly, “if he can make me submit, my counsel isn’t worth anything.”

“Precisely.”

“Because then he could manipulate me to get his way.” Deaton nodded, eyes crinkled like he approved of Stiles putting it together. Stiles was about to leave, having gotten more information than he had come here for, when Deaton held him back.

“I would like you to try something.” 

“That doesn’t sound good.” Deaton’s suggestion could range from outright dangerous to humiliating and Stiles wasn’t keen to try anything right now. Deaton shrugged along the lines of “no harm in trying” and motioned Stiles over. Sceptical was only one word Stiles would have used to describe his innermost thoughts.

Before Stiles knew what was happening, Deaton had thrown the mountain ash into a perfect circle around him. “I want you to get out of it.” 

“Excuse me?” Stiles spluttered, “you want me to what?”

“I want you to step out of it.”

“And how do you suppose I do that? Last time I checked, werewolves couldn’t get out of mountain ash. That’s kinda the whole point.”

“You are not a werewolf.” Semantics. As if that mattered. Wolf or fox, it shouldn’t make a difference. Not in this case. 

“I don’t think the rules are any different for foxes,” he said with a heavy side of sarcasm.

“Try,” Deaton insisted with a curious glimmer in his eyes that Stiles didn’t particularly like. Proving him wrong would be a delight, Stiles thought and stepped forward and forward and forward.

Until his foot had crossed the line.

“What the-”

“Just like I thought.” Stiles was too baffled to object to Deaton’s self-assuredness.

“How-”

“Spark.” As if that explained anything. Stiles was getting sick of that word fast. 

“You can’t use that for everything,” he protested. Deaton merely shrugged again. 

“Why can I- how did you know, I could do this?”

“In simple terms,” Deaton said with a smile, “spark trumps fox.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that your Spark was what triggered your becoming a werefox in the first place. It was there before you were bitten and remained all throughout your change. You didn’t have to choose between Spark and fox. It was only logical that, if you could do it before, you would be able to do it after.”

“I did it before because I was human.”

“Humans can’t make a mountain ash circle.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means, you have another ace up your sleeve.”

“Another lie to tell.”

“That too.”

“You say it, like it’s so easy.”

“It is not easy,” Deaton shook his head, gaze burning, “but it _is_ necessary.”

For some reason, the words sounded heavy with implication.

* * *

He had been driving around town for a good two hours before he finally found the courage to set his plan into motion. They had all agreed to stay at Derek’s, safe for Lydia. Stiles thanked whoever God was listening that she had decided to stay at home. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be any opportunity to get her alone without anyone eavesdropping.

“I need to talk to you,” he said once the door had been opened. 

“Come in.” She raised an eyebrow at him but stepped aside nonetheless.

“What is it?” she asked once they were seated in her room, the door closed and locked with the warding intact. Stiles had seen to it that all of the pack members had a safe spot in their houses. Just to be sure.

“There is- there is something I have been keeping from you.”

“From me?”

“From the pack.”

“Even Derek?”

He nodded, feeling shame and guilt fight for dominance inside him. In the end, guilt won by a hair.

“I had to.”

“Why?”

“Because it could- it could decide everything.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I can do things!” he blurted out before he could think any better of it.

“We’ve established that.”

“No!” Stiles bit out, growing increasingly frustrated, “I mean, I can _do_ things- things that shouldn’t be possible.”

“You are a _Spark_. What did you think that meant?”

She wasn’t getting it. How was she not getting it?

“I stopped time.”

“Pardon?”

“I stopped time. That’s how I killed that second demon. I stopped time,” he forced out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, “I tried it again with Deaton and it worked.” If she was surprised at this admission, she didn’t show it. But another thing seemed to have caught her attention.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I couldn’t- I still can’t- they cannot know until this is over.”

“Why?”

“Because they don’t know.”

“What? Of course they know.”

“No Lyds, _they_ don’t know…” Stiles repeated, mentally preparing himself for what was sure to come. 

“What?” It could made him proud that she still hadn’t caught on yet. He could feel superior at having tricked even her. But in reality, it made him feel worse. Because that meant, they all trusted him to an extent he was afraid of. It meant, they never would have guessed, never would have _believed_ , Stiles of all people would lie to them. And he had. 

And finally, he saw understanding dawn on her face and she breathed “the demons.”

“Yes. You said yourself, they’re doing the ritual. And they’re planning on me being a werefox, which, okay, is irregular but nothing more. They don’t know what I am. It’s-”

“the only chance.”

“Yes,” he sighed, falling back against the cushions.

“So, you didn’t mention anything because if they realise what you are, they’ll prepare for it.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s-” she stopped and Stiles was struck by the suspicion that she had been about to say something but had changed her mind halfway through, “brilliant.”

“What?” Stiles perked up, having been caught completely off guard by her answer.

“No. I see what you’re doing and it’s brilliant. They think you’re the second and the emissary but not that it’s based on any magical power. Because they didn’t think to check for it in your blood before.”

“Before…” he had lost her somewhere and wasn’t sure if he could follow. But she took pity on him and explained either way. 

“Before they came here.”

He took a deep breath, averted his eyes because he simply couldn’t look at her while he asked.

“I need you to tell him- if- if I don’t make it out- if something happens- I need you to tell him why I lied, why I couldn’t say anything, okay?”

“No.”

“Lydia-” he said, letting all his desperation pour out, “if it goes south, I need him to know _why_.”

“Why me?”

“You’re the only one who’s not gonna be there.”

“You’re talking like you know something I don’t.” He knew exactly what she was accusing him off.

“It’s Plan B- just _if_ I don’t make it.”

“Don’t do this to me,” she breathed, “don’t you dare say that.” There was fear in her words, fear that he knew something she hadn’t yet seen and Stiles could do nothing to reassure her. 

“I need your promise, Lyds, there’s no one else…” For a moment, neither of them said anything. Lydia’s gaze was stuck to the wall and her chest heaved with the effort it took for her to breathe. Stiles noticed how hard her heart was thumping but there was nothing he could do to reassure her. After what felt like eternity, she lifted her head. 

“You owe me, Stiles- I swear,” he heard her agony over giving this promise clear as day, “you owe me.”  
  


* * *

The thrumming had gotten increasingly worse over the day. At one point, Isaac had put his fist through the wall because it affected him so badly. Stiles had tried to calm him down but it hadn’t really worked. Boyd had finally taken him upstairs to mediate with him – a thing they had both found calming.

“She’s waiting for us, isn’t she? She knows we’re coming.” Erica asked from where she was sitting on the floor. She had that vacant look in her eyes she always got whenever danger was ahead. Stiles had noticed, it had started when she had been first tortured by the Argents, like she was dissociating.

“Yes.” Derek was still pacing up and down while Scott had taken to wrap himself around Allison like that would protect her. It was endearing to watch and sparked Stiles’ ambition to save them that much more.

“We’re leaving at dawn,” Derek snapped the way he only did when his stress level was hitting new heights.

“Derek?” Stiles gestured for him to join him in the kitchen, not because the kitchen offered any privacy but because it offered the illusion of such. Derek followed, his steps much louder than usual.

“It’s a trap,” Stiles breathed out once he had Derek where he needed him, “we know that and we’re walking right into it so you need to calm down.”

“I _am_ calm.”

“You’re agitated,” he insisted, suddenly reminded of what Deaton had said. That he was the emissary, that he was the common sense between them. He only hoped he could be that for Derek.

“I don’t know what to do,” Derek finally admitted, “I know what we’re walking into but there is no other option.”

“It was your idea,” Stiles reminded him gently, “she’s doing it tonight and it’s gonna be easier if we come to her willingly. She’ll underestimate us. She’ll think we’re overly confident. She’ll have no idea what’ll hit her because she doesn’t know that _we_ know.” It was the one thing Stiles was sure of. That demon thought she was above all, that she was untouchable. But she wasn’t. Stiles had a way of taking her down. The pack would go in and be trapped but Stiles would be trapped with them and he could _save_ them.

As long as she didn’t know what Stiles truly was, they would be fine.

“But she’ll get sceptical if we just wander into the woods,” Derek insisted, voice tight.

“But she doesn’t know that we know which ritual she’s doing. She thinks, we’re trying to stop her doing the ritual from before, that we sniffed her out like we did the first time.”

“You have it all figured out, don’t you?” Derek said with a smile. It could have come across as sarcastic but the smile reassured Stiles that it wasn’t meant like that.

“I try,” he smirked, letting the darkness lift for a moment.

* * *

The preserve at night had a certain kind of beauty, dark and still but hauntingly beautiful. Any other night, Stiles would have enjoyed walking through the woods with Derek at his side, simply listening to the wind in the trees.

But this night was different. The beauty he had always been able to make out was not present tonight. The darkness felt all-consuming like there was danger around every corner, lurking. He noticed how Peter kept close to their little group, not wandering off like he usually did. Scott’s claws were elongating and retreating with the rhythm of his heart and Derek’s breathing was unusually laboured.

It couldn’t take long now.

They all stopped suddenly.

“Did you hear that?” Scott hissed between clenched teeth. Stiles saw that he was shifting already and followed suit. They were back to back now, each staring in one direction. Stiles couldn’t make out where the noise had come from.

There.

Again.

A whisper. 

He instantly recognised the voice as that from before. It washed over him like the Alpha command had but with less familiarity.

“Derek-” he got hold of Derek’s jacket but once he came face to face with the Alpha, he noticed the emptiness in Derek’s eyes.

Fuck.

Every instinct he had was telling him to run for his life, to scream and shake them until they woke up, to use his magic and break that damned spell. It took deliberate strength to stop himself from doing any of it. Instead, he forced a breath and closed his eyes.

 _Surrender…_ he heard the voice in his ear. He didn’t want to. God, he didn’t want to. But when he opened his eyes again, they were empty.

He had let go.

* * *

He came to when he heard voices chanting near him. His lids felt heavy but he managed to crack them open. A fire was burning in a small circle. He spotted Derek, Scott and Peter, all with their heads hanging down and their bodies limp. They were still alive, that much he could tell.

There were four people surrounding the flames. Stiles didn’t understand what that meant. Why were there four? It was supposed to be only one left. But then again, maybe she needed their help and they were humans under her influence?

Stiles’ zeroed in a the woman with red hair. Where had he seen her before? Why did she look so familiar? And then it hit him. He hadn’t seen her before. Not in this body at least. That wasn’t a human woman, that was a vessel and someone was wearing her face. That someone, Stiles would bet his life on, was the demon he had killed with a silver knife that shouldn’t have worked.

He turned his head to the side, trying to get a good look at the others. His sharp intake of breath was not noticed.

His heart had started to race in his chest. His breath had quickened. All because of the sudden, damning realisation that they had made a mistake. 

A colossal mistake.

The demons weren’t dead.

They were here.

They were _all_ here.

**Author's Note:**

> I would love for you to leave kudos if you liked it or let me know your thoughts in the comments. I will try to upload the follow-up chapter as soon as possible.


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